


Blame

by uena



Category: The Tomorrow People (2013)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Codependency, Developing Relationship, Dirty Bad Wrong, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode Tag, Families of Choice, Fix-It, Hurt/Comfort, Introspection, M/M, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-30
Updated: 2014-05-26
Packaged: 2018-01-17 13:52:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 58,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1390129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uena/pseuds/uena
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John blames Jedikiah for his ruined life. There's nothing surprising about that. What's surprising is that he still won't let him leave - that he keeps coming back to him. And he keeps coming back, again and again. Until he can blame Jedikiah for all the joy in his life as well. Until they're a family again.</p><p> <br/>Episode Tag to 1x17 - Endgame</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Blame it on the Alcohol

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hope_calaris](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hope_calaris/gifts).



> This started as an episode tag, and then turned into my own fix-it version for the whole season. You're welcome, I guess.

He finds John that night.

He doesn’t mean to. What he means to do is leave the city, once and for all. He’s got nothing left to lose, has nothing left that’s worth staying for – worth risking his life for. He placed his bet on Stephen, and now all his savings are gone, all those years of careful planning and manoeuvring just wasted in one hasty, indecisive moment.

He’s tired of waiting. Of hoping. It was stupid of him to have ever done so to begin with.

So he goes to a bar. One final drink in this rotten city, and then he’ll be gone.

He hopes Morgan will forgive him. She’s the only one who might.

 

The bar he picks is dimly lit, clean, but insignificant. It consists of one main room, with a long counter along the rear wall, and small round tables dotting the floor. It’s where people go for a quiet chat after work, for drinks with friends, maybe. He wouldn’t know.

Roger is all he ever had, and he hasn’t had him for a while now. Maybe that’s why he wanted Stephen to succeed so badly. Maybe the loneliness finally got to him.

He enters the bar and makes a beeline to the counter, has already lifted his hand to signal the barkeeper when a familiar blond head to his left grabs his attention, and his hand freezes in mid-air.

“John?”

He knows that John is drunk the second he turns his head to really look at him, knows that he’s miserable even before that. It’s one of the reasons he’s leaving.

John has killed an innocent today, and he made him do it. It might have been an accident, but they both know that mere facts will never make the pain go away. It will always be there, linger and fester – an open wound that can only grow worse over time, never better.

John jerks with surprise when he hears his voice, flails on his bar stool, almost falls to the floor. He reaches out to steady him out of pure instinct, but the second his fingers connect, he feels sick, as if his guilt needed only this to manifest – needed the physical contact.

As soon as he can be sure that John won’t fall after all, he pulls back, tries not to be bothered by the wide-eyed stare John directs at him.

“What are you … how did you find me?” John sounds unsteady, and his pupils are blown so wide it’s a small miracle that he’s still able to form words at all.

“I didn’t mean to,” he answers, completely honest for once. “I’ll … just go.”

“You his dad?” the barkeeper addresses him suddenly. “I should’ve cut him off a while ago, sorry man. You better take him home.”

The words feel like a punch to the gut. All of them. Every single one seems to be designed for maximum damage, and he swallows against the bile rising in his throat, takes a few, deep breaths.

“Yeah,” he says, his eyes on John the whole time. “I better.”

John tries to hit him, on the way out.

He doesn’t try to stop him – doesn’t even have to. John’s always been a sloppy drunk, uncoordinated and prone to falling over his own two feet. When he’s happy, he’s an affectionate drunk, too. Clingy, without any sense for personal space.

That only happened once, though. On John’s 18th birthday.

It actually hurts to think back to it.

It was before some of the worst parts of his life, but not before everything went to hell, was somewhere in the middle, like an island of brief reprieve from his life. Many moments with John were, but sadly not all of them. Not even most of them.

God, he’s been such a bastard to the kid.

They make it out of the bar and onto the curb, and he half and half expects John to double over and vomit, but he doesn’t. Instead, he grabs his collar with both hands, twists them around until his back hits the brick wall. It’s almost dark outside, the sun just about to hit the horizon and call it a day, turning John’s blond hair to ash.

“You said it would make everything okay!” John’s voice breaks over the last word, is too loud, too desperate, and the people passing them by walk a little faster. “You said it would make it stop!”

He could point out the obvious, could be cruel and remind John that he was supposed to kill _someone else_. He doesn’t.

“I know, kiddo,” he says instead, and the guilt in his voice makes him sound strangely gentle, almost tender. “I’m so sorry.”

John’s fingers tighten in his collar. He can hear the strain in the fabric, but is distracted by the expression on John’s face. He looks broken, impossibly young … helpless and scared.

“I’m so, so sorry,” he repeats, can’t seem to stop now that he’s allowed himself to say it. The brick wall is cold against his back, his jacket not thick enough to keep him warm. “I didn’t want this to happen to you – I never meant for any of this to happen to you.”

He was just the only one available. The only one who would even consider doing what he was asked. The only one weak and blind and stupid enough to _trust_.

“You deserved so much better. I know that – I’ve always known that.” His throat feels tight, is closing up with something frighteningly close to tears, and he shuts his mouth, blinks the wetness away.

He can’t break down now, not after all this time. He needs to leave.

But first he needs to take John somewhere safe. He owes him that much.

“I trusted you.”

He expected a scream – full of reproach and blame, angry and hateful. What he gets is the desperate whisper of a broken boy, a declaration of failure.

As if it was John’s fault. As if he could’ve known.

The grip on his collar loosens, and John leans into him, lets his head hang down. Jedikiah just looks at him, really looks at him – takes in the unruly blond hair, the wrinkled but clean clothes. He can’t see John’s face, but the line of his shoulders is telling enough for someone who knows him, even in the twilight.

And he knows him. He’s always known him. That’s what made betraying him so easy.

He’s no longer sure trading Johns happiness for Roger was even worth it. Maybe he should have left Roger and taken John to safety instead. It would have meant living with regret, yes, but he has to do that anyway now; just for a different set of reasons, for doing much worse than leaving his brother behind.

“I trusted you, Jed.”

John just … tips forward. Jedikiah doesn’t even know if he means to do it. Suddenly, he’s just _there_ , his hands on Jedikiah’s chest instead of clinging to his collar, open and vulnerable.

Jedikiah brings his arms up on autopilot, is too stunned for actual deliberation. He puts them around John, holds him up – holds him close.

“I trusted you, and you used me. Why did you have to turn me into _this_? Why couldn’t you just leave me at the foster home? Why did you have to take me in? Why did you have to take me and turn me into someone who wanted to be good for you?”

John’s breath is hot against his neck, he’s leaning into Jedikiah with all his weight, and he sounds wrecked, completely and utterly ruined. “I would have done anything for you, Jed. Anything.”

He pushes closer, unsteady but determined, and Jedikiah holds him a little tighter. “I know, darling. You were such a good boy. You still are.” He feels John’s fingers flex against his chest, feels his breathing pausing and then speeding up against his neck. He feels odd, all of a sudden – not only sick but feverish, and he closes his eyes. “Whatever I turned you into, underneath you’re still the same.”

The sun tips over the horizon, takes the last rays of light with her, and he can feel the darkness closing in, can taste it at the back of his throat. He needs to leave. But he can’t without pushing John away and letting him fall. So he stays.

“No, I’m not.” John shifts against him, distracts him from his thoughts. “I killed. I killed because you asked me to. Not only once, but twice. I’m not the same anymore. You turned me into your dog, and you didn’t even have the decency to take care of me.”

Jedikiah’s eyes fall open at that, and he stares over John’s shoulder and into the dark. The streetlamp to their right makes a few hissing noises, tries to blink into life and finally sizzles out. The bar they came out of is located in a quiet side street, and the few people passing by don’t pay them any heed.

John still sounds drunk, very drunk even – but it’s the kind of drunk where you get so focused on something it lets you forget you’re inebriated, turns your thoughts into a single-minded blade. “What do I do now, Jed? Where do I go? Who’d want me now that I’m this?”

“I would,” Jedikiah says automatically. Not only because it’s the truth, but because for once in his life he wants to make John feel better. Because, apparently, he’s the first one to tell John these things, to tell him what he needs to hear. “I’ll always want you, darling.”

It’s with a kind of sickening regret that Jedikiah realizes that was probably the wrong thing to say. John doesn’t wish for _him_ to want him in any way. Not any more. He destroyed that relationship so thoroughly that their current closeness doesn’t even make _sense_.

John’s fingers flex against his chest again, and then they suddenly _grip_ the front of his sweater, bunch the fabric until it keens. “You … you do?”

He sounds so hopeful it sends a crack of pain right down Jedikiah’s centre. “Of course I do,” he says, his voice hoarse, like he stole it from someone else. (Someone with actual, human emotions. Someone worthy of John’s trust.) “I’ve always tried to get you back, didn’t I?”

“Yeah,” John says, and Jedikiah knows he’s started to cry. He can hear it in his voice, can feel it damp against his neck, “because you’ve wanted me to kill for you. That’s all I’m good for. That’s all anyone ever wants me for.”

Jedikiah feels as though his heart is trying to break out of his chest. He can feel it fluttering against his ribs, angry and panicked all at once. He’d thought seeing his brother frozen on the brink of death had been the worst that could ever happen to him, but watching John lose his remaining faith and hope is so much more devastating. “No, no, no, darling … that’s not true, that’s not true at all.” His arms tighten around John, and one of his hands comes up to his head, threads his fingers through John’s hair. “You’re kind and loyal and brave, and it wasn’t fair that I took advantage of you, kiddo, it wasn’t fair of me. It wasn’t your fault. None of this was.”

He feels the shiver go through John’s body as if it was his own. It twists something inside him, makes him feel hot and cold all over, and his fingers tighten in John’s hair, scratch across his scalp. “I manipulated you, I lied to you. Don’t blame yourself for the things I made you do, kid. Please don’t do that.”

There’s another shiver, more violent than the first, and then John is sobbing. It starts quietly, as if he still tries to keep a hold on himself, as if he just can’t allow himself to grieve for what happened to him.

“It’s okay,” Jedikiah tells him, earnest and far too close to tears himself. He wasn’t lying when he told John that he always hurt right along with him. “You’re allowed to cry, darling. It’s okay.”

John slumps against him, devoid of all his remaining strength, and Jedikiah is so busy catching his fall that he almost misses the catch in John’s breath, the little sound signalizing the finishing fracture in his armour.

It all pours out through that crack – as if it’s the only one, as if it wasn’t surrounded by countless holes and fissures, the whole armour made up from safety pins and duct tape.

He holds John through it, holds him while he cries, watches him shake apart under his hands. John cries like a little boy – open and without shame, big desperate gulps for air and helpless wailing cries, half muffled against Jedikiah’s chest and neck.

He claws at Jedikiah’s clothes, clings to him and keeps pushing closer, and Jedikiah doesn’t know if he’s looking for comfort or trying to hurt him, and stays right where he is. His hand finds its way back into John’s hair, strokes and caresses, and he keeps murmuring quiet words of reassurance.

“Yeah,” he whispers, his voice thick with his own unshed tears, “just like this, darling. That’s it, just let them go.”

He means the tears as well as the dead, means all the memories that have haunted John over the years.

John pushes up and into him at the words, straightens suddenly. His arms come up around Jedikiah’s neck, and once they’re no longer in the way, once they no longer form a barrier between their bodies, John is so much closer to him than Jedikiah ever thought he should.

It feels strange, all of a sudden, to hold this young man in his arms. John is no longer the boy he took in all those years ago, the boy who ran away from him.

He’s a lean line of heat all across his front, a stark contrast to the cold wall pressing into his back, and he pushes forward out of instinct, into the warmth and vulnerability John offers him.

John looks up at him, and his face is all eyes in the darkness, shining and wet, red from crying. His arms feel heavy around Jedikiah’s neck, pulling him in, pulling him down, and he gives in to the pull, lets himself be drawn in.

John is still crying, but he’s quiet again, reduced to helpless little huffs, drawing in air as if it’s painful to keep breathing. He keeps staring at Jedikiah, eyes wide and strangely hopeful, so vulnerable it’s devastating.

Jedikiah can feel John’s chest heaving with each breath, can feel it pressed against his own, and it does something to him, the unusual closeness, the warmth. He tries to distract himself from the sudden tension around his heart by pulling out his handkerchief, (a clean one, not the one he sullied with his blood today), by drying John’s tears, one by one. “Are you feeling better?”

John blinks at him, and a few more tears spill, cling to his lashes for a few seconds before they fall.

He’s too close. Jedikiah could count those lashes if he wanted to, could count the little flecks of amber in John’s eyes. He clears his throat. “Is there a lair of yours close by? Somewhere you can spend the night?”

John blinks at him again, and something in his gaze shifts, defeated and yielding. It’s the only signal he gives before he tips his chin up and presses his mouth to Jedikiah’s. His lips are soft and dry, a little chapped, and he tastes like vodka.

No wonder he’s barely able to stand on his own two feet.

Jedikiah closes his eyes and allows himself to be kissed like this, allows John’s tongue to drag across his lower lip. Because if he doesn’t, he’d have to push John away, and he wants anything but that.

So he surrenders, to the twisted heat in his gut as well as the intoxicated youth licking at his mouth. He knows that it’s wrong, sickening even, that John is too drunk, too sad, too broken.

Still he lets it happen, opens his mouth for John, lets in his tongue and kisses him back.

He tastes sweet, beneath the alcohol, innocent and trusting, and that’s what tips Jedikiah over the edge – what makes him growl into John’s mouth, twist his fingers into his hair and tip his head back for a better angle.

John whines quietly, but kisses him back with quick, eager swipes of his tongue, uncoordinated and greedy. The helpless sounds falling from his lips don’t stop, he doesn’t stop whining, panting – whimpers louder into Jedikiah’s mouth the harder he’s being kissed.

And Jedikiah can’t help himself. John is pliant in his arms, a warm weight against him, keeping his body in place while his mind drifts, and his mouth takes everything he can get.

John keeps giving it to him, keeps pushing and licking and biting, and there’s no mistaking the hard line of heat pressing against Jedikiah’s right thigh. He’s just as hard, just as desperate for more, but John is drunk, and they’re in public.

This has to stop.

He doesn’t push John away. He just … stops kissing, takes his mouth away and turns his head to the side, tries to get his breath back, tries to repress the violent shiver resulting from John licking a wet stripe up his neck.

“That’s enough, John.”

“Please,” John pants into his ear, the arousal thick in his voice. “Please don’t stop. I want to feel good, please make me … Please, you can – you can do anything, we can blame it on the alcohol, please, Jed.”

Jedikiah squeezes his eyes shut, bites his lip. Wouldn’t that be nice. Fucking John while he’s in this state, taking what little is left of him and using it for his pleasure until even that is gone.

“We could,” he says, the rasp in his voice sounding foreign to his own ears. “I could make you feel so good you’d forget your own name.” He strokes John’s hair, and John pushes into the touch, moans unconstrained. “I could abuse you in ways you’d be afraid to even imagine – make you love it, beg for it.”

He kisses John’s temple. “But I won’t. I’ve done enough to you, I won’t do that. Anything but that.”

John ruts against him, legs spread and head tipped back, and Jedikiah puts his arm around his waist. “Please stop, darling.”

The movement of John’s hips turns less urgent, but he doesn’t stop entirely, stares at him with feverish intensity. “Please don’t make me.”

“I have to. We can’t do this here, John. Where is your closest lair? Let me take you there, yes?” In another lifetime, he would have used those exact words with the deliberate intent to sound ambiguous – now it’s pure accident.

John’s eyes darken with unbridled desire, and he nods, takes Jedikiah’s hand in his, trembling but determined. “Yeah. I can … yeah.”

He tries to take his own weight and stumbles sideways, is only saved from falling by Jedikiah’s grip on him. It feels strangely natural to hold John up, as if he was made to be his human crutch, somebody for him to depend on.

Not the one who not only let him fall but pushed him off the cliff.

“This way,” John mumbles, manages to slur the words so much they become almost unrecognizable. Jedikiah turns in the direction he tugs him to, and together they make their way down the street.

With Jedikiah as his crutch John manages a somewhat upright walk, and from a distance they probably look more or less normal – a father steadying his son.

The thought grinds on Jedikiah’s mind, hits a nerve so raw it tingles through his whole body, and the experience is not wholly unpleasant. Once upon a time he would have liked to be a father – to John, even. Sometimes it felt like he was.

But those times are over, and not only because they just kissed. They were over a long, long time ago, long before the kissing, and there’s no way in heaven or hell to get them back.

He won’t even be a father to the child that’s actually _his_ , let alone the one he abused so thoroughly.

John takes him through side streets and back alleys and into the decrepit part of the city, and it shouldn’t surprise Jedikiah as much as it does when he recognizes the neighbourhood.

This is where the foster home was. It’s were John spent the first years of his life, after his mother died and left him an orphan. Jedikiah never found out what happened to John’s father, if he’s still around.

For some reason, John never asked any questions about him, either.

They stop, and Jedikiah turns his head to look at John, finds him glaring at the dark windows in front of them, a sullen twist to his mouth. Jedikiah understands at least part of his apprehension. The house looks ready to succumb to a slight gale, its façade so riddled with cracks and fissures it could double as a sieve.

“You don’t want to go inside?”

John closes his eyes for a brief moment, and when he opens them again, there’s a determined set to his chin. “Yes, I do. Come on.”

He doesn’t sound quite so drunk any more, and Jedikiah doesn’t know if he should feel relieve or apprehension about that. John being drunk might be the only thing keeping the peace right now.

But then John takes his hand, laces their fingers together and tugs him along, and Jedikiah is not equipped to deal with the tidal wave of longing that simple touch lets loose. He cannot allow himself to feel this way, not now, when he’s mere hours away from leaving for good.

Ready or not, he lets himself be lead into the abandoned house, lets John shut the door behind them. He’s actually surprised when he’s pushed up to the door the very next second, with John plastered along his front, obviously just as drunk as he was ten minutes ago.

“Now?“ he asks, hopeful and sad at once, and when Jedikiah doesn’t answer, he presses a kiss to his lips, surprisingly soft, almost gentle. There’s an urgency behind the gentleness, though – a desperate hunger for something Jedikiah is certain John wouldn’t want while sober. “Can we do it now?”

Some dark, twisted part of Jedikiah wishes they actually could. He’s afraid it might be his heart.

“Where’s the bed?“ he asks, brushes his fingers across John’s cheek. “Where do you sleep?”

He really hopes there actually is a bed. That John will be sleeping comfortably tonight, that he won’t wake up tomorrow with thunder in his head and liquid fire in his muscles. The memories he’ll have to deal with will be bad enough.

John takes his hand again, tugs him toward the old but surprisingly sturdy staircase. Jedikiah has to help him up the stairs, has to guide his steps, and prevent him from falling – both forwards and backwards. “God, kid, how much did you have to drink? You know you can’t hold your liquor.”

John doesn’t answer, just clings to him that much more determined.

By some sort of miracle they make it to the top of the stairs intact, without either of them falling, and Jedikiah can honestly say that he’s never felt this old before. “Okay, I think I need to lie down for a minute or two. Or sitting. Sitting would be great as well.”

He hears John produce a strangled snort, a genuine sound of amusement, and it warms him to his core.

This is what he always wanted, what he craved more than anything. This kind of connection, a camaraderie based on trust and affection, the comfort that comes from being with someone you _know_.

And he was so busy trying to keep knowing Roger that he didn’t realize he knew John so much better all along, without even trying.

“The bed?” he asks again, regret slicing through him like a million scalpel cuts, precise and vicious.

John nudges him towards the door to their right, and he opens it, is surprised by the clean state of the room, by the size and apparent comfort of the bed. He’s not stupid enough to ask John why he doesn’t stay here more often, though.

He knows what that man did to the children under his care. In retrospect, he’s almost as bad as Jedikiah himself.

“That’ll do,” he comments, brings John over to the bed and manoeuvres him into a sitting position. “Keep still, please.”

John obliges him, although he seems to be confused by the request – watches him wide-eyed and befuddled, while he unlaces his shoes and pulls them off his feet. (John never properly grasped the concept of not getting your shoes anywhere on the bed.)

Jedikiah’s gone down to his knees to rid John of his shoes, and the position offers him an excellent view of the state of John’s arousal. His own has flagged down by now, is nothing more than a persistent trickle of heat down his spine, but John … John is young and stupid and tenacious, in mind, body and soul.

Mostly in body.

“Jed,” he whines, when Jedikiah just stares and digests this for a few seconds. “Come up to me, _please_.”

He takes a deep breath and gets up. “Okay, listen, kiddo. There’s no way I’m going to take advantage of you tonight. No way at all, come hell or high water, you understand me? You’re drunk, and confused, and _miserable_ , and if I allow this to happen between us, I’d have to make you kill me come tomorrow morning.”

John blinks up at him, and he looks so terribly young that it’s suddenly difficult to breathe.

“But … you said you’d always want me. Was that … was that a lie, too?”

Jedikiah wants to grab and shake him until he’s sober, until he’s starts to see sense again. “Will you listen to what I say to you? Wanting you for who you are and taking advantage of you are two very different things! You can’t possibly want me of all people to fuck with you even more than I already did. And yes, the pun was intended.”

He watches John’s face in the dark, watches him lick his lips and finally evade his gaze. “I just … I don’t want to be alone anymore.”

It’s not just the words that hit Jedikiah so deep he might as well have been shot with an arrow. It’s John’s posture on the bed, shoulders down, head bent low, hands fumbling in his lap, listless and weak.

“Then I’ll stay with you.” The words are out of his mouth before he can even process them properly.

It’s not what he’d planned, not even close. But his plans never quite pan out the way they’re supposed to, so maybe this is better. It can’t get any worse, that much is certain. And the way John is looking at him now, surprise mingled with gratefulness, is definitely worth sticking around for.

“You’ll stay?” he whispers. “Even without –“

“Yes,” he cuts him off, brusque and gentle at the same time. “I’ll stay the night. But you have to promise me to behave.”

They both look down at John’s crotch, and he’s _still_ hard, still straining against his jeans.

“It’s just the alcohol.” John actually shrugs his shoulders. He looks sheepish, all of a sudden, immature and sweet. “I always get horny when I’m drunk.”

Jedikiah wants to bury his head in quicksand and let himself be dragged into eternal darkness. “I see.” He clears his throat. “You want me with you on the bed?”

“Yes!” John scoots over immediately, lies down on the left side of the bed, fully clothed, over the covers. It’s probably for the best if they don’t undress. A quick get-away is always so much more difficult when naked.

He sits himself down on the right side of the bed, gets rid of his own shoes, and lies down next to John. He stares up at the dark ceiling, and if he weren’t so aware of how exactly he got to this point in his life, he’d probably feel better.

He is, though. So aware, oh God, immensely aware.

“Can I … is touching ok?” John asks unexpectedly, his voice shy and unsure, and Jedikiah turns his head to look at him. “Cuddling is okay. If you mean that.”

John just rolls over and squishes up against him, lets a startled little moan out when his hips connect to Jedikiah’s. “Sorry! Sorry, I didn’t mean to –“

“It’s okay,” Jedikiah cuts him off again. “Just go to sleep.”

John lies completely still for a few minutes, his breath hot and moist against Jedikiah’s neck. “I can’t.”

Jedikiah briefly closes his eyes. “You have to be kidding me.”

“I killed her, Jed. I killed Cassandra. I watched her die.”

In a different life, in a different world, he’d be able to hear those words and be shocked, but all he feels is tired. “Come here.”

He rolls on his side and tugs John against his chest, gathers him in his arms. He doesn’t tell him that it was an accident, that it wasn’t his fault.

“I’ll never let anything like that happen to you ever again,” he promises instead, speaks a little louder when John starts to cry again. “You won’t have to feel like that again, won’t have to hurt anyone ever again.”

John makes a broken sound against his neck and clings harder to him. It hurts, but it doesn’t hurt as much as witnessing him breaking down for the second time today.

He’s completely quiet, this time. There’s no loud sobbing, no desperate gulps for air. He’s shivering and breathless, doesn’t stop crying for almost an hour, but he makes little to no sound.

That makes it worse, somehow. It feels like he’s only crying for Cassandra, not for himself, like he grieves the life that was taken, not the one that has to go on and somehow _cope_.

It’s all over for Cassandra. John is the one who has to keep on living, and judging from the fact that he’s alone mere hours after it happened, there won’t be anyone to help him with it in the future.

That’s Jedikiah’s fault, too. He’s the one who took all of John’s trust until he had none left to give anymore.

“I’m here, I’m here for you,” he whispers, as though that’s any help, as though he has the _right_. “You don’t have to do this alone, kiddo, I’m always here.”

It doesn’t feel like a lie, although it should.

The words are followed by a shiver so strong it feels as though John is about to tremble out of his skin, and then he stills, pushes his wet face into Jedikiah’s chest. “No, you’re not.”

There it is.

“I’m here now,” he amends, closes his eyes. John doesn’t say anything to that, merely presses closer to him. Jedikiah feels his exhaustion as if it were his own, and he drags his fingers through John’s hair. “Go to sleep, darling.”

Surprisingly enough, John does.


	2. Blame it on the Fear of Losing You

He must have dozed off. He didn’t mean to. He’d meant to stay awake and keep watch. Because now that they’re both hunted by Ultra, he’s out of strings to pull, out of loopholes for other people to jump through.

All he has left is his gun, and as fate will have it, he’s currently out of bullets. He’s as useless as a kitten in a bathtub.

He’s not sure what woke him. Dawn is just barely creeping in through the nailed up window, and John –

John is awake. John is staring at him. John looks grey and horrified and completely overwhelmed, and Jedikiah wishes he’d never opened his eyes.

The bed feels cold beneath them, the mattress hard and lumpy. He has no idea how he managed to fall asleep.

“Good morning.” His voice sounds hoarse, and John flinches away from him when he hears it – but not far. Not far at all. They’re still very, very close; he can feel where John’s fingers dig into the back of his pullover.

Jedikiah clears his throat. “Do you … do you remember what –“

“I remember,” John interrupts him, sounding like he’s on the brink of a panic attack. The shadows on his face make him look alien and dangerous, fragile and touchable at the same time. “But I don’t understand.”

Jedikiah’s instincts want him to reach out and touch John in some way, to make him feel safe, and he clamps down on that impulse as hard as possible. It would just make matters worse. He clears his throat. “To be quite honest I’m not sure what happened myself – do you want me to leave?”

He moves away before John says anything, just assuming what his answer will be – and it’s an assumption based on years and years of experience, so it’s not like he’s being hasty – and John grabs him and keeps him still.

“You said you’d be here for me.”

Jedikiah’s pretty sure that John doesn’t mean to sound half as enthralled as he does. It’s not for the first time that he notices the deep shadows beneath John’s eyes, the exhaustion lingering on his skin no matter when or how they meet. Even now, after a night of relatively comfortable rest, John still doesn’t look anything but tired and worn.

It’s what a life of war and strife does to you. Jedikiah can relate.

“I did,” he confirms, his face carefully neutral. “Strangely enough, I meant it, too.”

It can’t be normal that John stays this close, allows their bodies to keep touching. It’s almost an embrace, and maybe it shouldn’t feel this weird after what’s happened last night. But it’s somehow worse in daylight – it always is.

Jedikiah can’t stop staring at John. “I actually meant all of the things I said.”

It’s been years since John looked at him with something other than distrust, (at least while sober), so the faint hopefulness illuminating his eyes is quite the surprise. But it’s still mingled with doubt, with the same paralyzing indecisiveness that prevented Stephen from putting an end to this whole charade.

“I know, I know,” Jedikiah murmurs. “It’s hard to believe.”

“I kissed you!” John blurts the words as if the memory had been on lock-down until three seconds ago, as if it’s just now surfaced and hit him in the shins on its way to freedom.

Jedikiah doesn’t know what to say to that. It undoubtedly happened, but to confirm that with actual words would be tantamount to cruelty.

So he keeps staring at John, and John keeps staring at him, and they both do not move a single inch.

They really are awfully close to each other. The night must have been cold. He can still feel it in his bones – where they aren’t touching. Where they are, he’s almost too comfortable, pleasantly warm. It feels nice.

It shouldn’t feel nice. He should feel awkward and guilty and perhaps even a little bit sick. But there are a lot of things he should have felt over the years, and he’s gotten really good at ignoring those feelings and carrying on no matter what.

“I kissed you,” John says again, with a confused tilt to his mouth as though he doesn’t quite understand the meaning of the words.

“You did,” Jedikiah agrees gently, (there’s no sense in ignoring the facts), and just as gently frees himself from the grip John has on his pullover. “You were very, very drunk, though.”

“That’s no excuse.” John sounds just as wounded as he did when he accused Jedikiah of ruining his life. Apparently, Jedikiah isn’t even allowed to make excuses on John’s behalf.

“That’s not an excuse, that’s a weak attempt at an explanation,” he clarifies with terrible irony. He just can’t hold it in, can’t hold the words back. “But if you want to beat yourself up about it – please, be my guest.”

“I kissed you!” John hisses at him. “Don’t you see how messed-up that is?”

Jedikiah’s always had a long fuse, and he’s always been careful to hide the matches and throw away the lighters. But John seems to be determined to use flints if necessary, and enough is enough.

“Of course I know that!” he hisses back. “I was there! I was there when you rubbed against me and begged me to make you feel good! I was the one actually _considering_ going through with it!”

John actually blushes, and Jedikiah calms down as quickly as he boiled over. “Sorry, that … I’m sorry. You’ve been through a lot, John, and alcohol can be … difficult.”

“I was drunk, not mind controlled.” He sounds frightened, not angry, and Jedikiah sits up, brings some distance between them.

“Well, you certainly weren’t quite yourself.”

“Stop making excuses!” John yells the words as if they’re trying to suffocate him. His chest is heaving, his eyes bright with unshed tears. “I kissed you and I fucking loved it – loved every second of it, and it got me so hard that –“ He stops, swallows convulsively. “I slept in your arms and it … it felt good.”

The panic in his voice is covered with a thick layer of horrified arousal, and Jedikiah doesn’t know what to do. John is sober now, but he’s not even close to being emotionally or mentally ready to deal with this.

He looks shaken, his skin almost ashen, with bright red spots high on his cheeks. His eyes are so blue it almost hurts to look at them. “Why does this still happen? Why do I still … why can’t you just _leave_?!”

“I intend to.” The words push their way out and right into John’s helpless fury, and everything just. Stops.

Jedikiah gets up from the bed and stands, and John clambers after him, hastens to follow. He’s even paler than before. “You what?”

“I intend to leave,” Jedikiah repeats, patient despite the sickening twist to his gut.

John looks betrayed all over again. He’s standing with his back to the window – to the rising sun – and his hair is wreathed in gold. Somehow, it only manages to make him look more fragile. Fragile and entirely too young. “But. But you said …”

“I know what I said, John, but if you want me gone, that’s a lot more important than a promise you don’t need.”

“Where … where are you going to go?” He sounds so lost, asking the question, and Jedikiah doesn’t understand him anymore. None of this. He tries to calm the buzz in his mind and fails.

“I don’t know yet. But I suppose your life will be a lot easier once I’m out of it.”

“Yeah,” John agrees, but he doesn’t sound happy about it. “I suppose it will.”

He puts his arms around his torso, hugs himself, a picture of forlorn misery. Jedikiah wishes he could touch him without the inevitably negative consequences. He turns away from him and towards the door, manages three steps before John stops him.

“Wait!” His hand is on Jedikiah’s elbow, and his fingers dig so hard into the fabric of his pullover that he can feel the nails press into his skin.

He almost asks, “For what?”

John is so breathless it makes him sound as if he’s on the verge of an asthma attack. “Please … please wait.”

Jedikiah closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He doesn’t move, remains with his back turned to John. “I need to get going, John. I already stayed much longer than I intended.”

“But you promised!” John turns him around by force, yanks on his arm until he complies, and Jedikiah opens his eyes to an expression of frantic accusation. “You promised to be there for me! You promised that you wouldn’t let me hurt anyone ever again!”

Jedikiah’s eyes widen. “That’s not – John, that’s not what I _meant_.” He’s closed the distance between them and put both of his hands on Johns shoulders before the words are fully out. “I know that hurting people is the last thing you want to do. I know that. I’ve always known that.”

It’s what made using John for his plans so much worse. Knowing about John’s empathy, his inherent desire to help and protect, and turn him into a soldier of devastation. It’s what broke them both.

“… You can’t just leave now that things got a little difficult.” John is staring at the floor between them as if he’s perfectly aware that that’s kind of an understatement. His voice is quiet, sad, and so unbelievably tired that it makes Jedikiah feel as if he’s on strings, dangling above fog. “You’re the only thing in my life that … that never went away.”

He looks back up again, shy and unsure, a quick glance at Jedikiah that transports far too much emotion.

Jedikiah is terribly confused. “So … you want me to stay?”

John nods, slowly and then a little bit faster – more certain. “Yes. I want you to stay.”

“And …” Jedikiah tries to wrap his head around it, he really does, “… and do what?”

“I don’t know!” John’s honest dismay should probably not amuse him, but he can’t help it, the flustered look on his face is just so … John. “Just stay, okay? Stay and be good, for once.”

He’s too surprised to be offended or hurt. His hands are still on John’s shoulders, and … John wants him to stay. It just doesn’t compute.

John steps closer to him suddenly, takes up all the space that was left between them. He’s just as tall as Jedikiah, and there’s no leaning up or pulling down necessary to bring their mouths together.

He doesn’t know why he kisses back, or why his hands are suddenly all over John, why he keeps pulling at his clothes and biting at his mouth as if this is the best thing that’s ever happened to him, and he needs to get at it now or perish trying.

The buzzing in his mind gets louder, drowns out everything else. Until all he can hear is the rushing of blood in his ears, his own laboured breaths, John’s needy whining.

John’s movements are just as frantic as his own, just as desperate and uncompromising. His hands shouldn’t feel as good they do on naked skin. This doesn’t feel like it did last night, when he was merely aroused – not half out of his mind with need like he is now.

He falls to his knees in front of John, breathless and hazy. Knowing that it’s wrong doesn’t stop him from thumbing open the button of John’s jeans, nor does it make him hesitate to pull down the zipper.

His blood burns through his veins, hot and cold, urges him on until he’s shrouded in red mist. The few shreds of common sense he has left scream at him to stop – stop this while they still can, but John’s hands in his hair pull him forward instead of pushing him away, and oh God, he _wants_. He wants this so much he can taste it at the back of his throat.

Somewhere above him John is making sounds of enthusiastic consent, is whispering his name, chanting an endless repetition of, “yes, yes please, I want you to, Jed, please”, and Jedikiah’s hands seem to understand him perfectly, even if his mind does not.

He fits them over John’s hips, lets his thumbs brush over the naked skin above the waistband of his shorts – just for a second, just for a brief taste. It’s smooth, almost too soft, would be tempting if he wasn’t beyond temptation anyway.

He pushes the jeans down.

They’re tight, refuse to move more than a few inches by themselves, and he has neither the patience nor ability to focus to deal with them. He pushes them down to John’s knees and leaves them there.

With the shorts he’s more careful, almost gentle. He pushes his fingers below the waistband and _strokes_ them off John’s hips, revels in the feeling of bare skin under his hands. John moans; he’s hard again, flushed and heavy between his thighs, already tilting up towards his stomach.

It wasn’t just the alcohol last night, it seems.

Jedikiah doesn’t even hesitate before he leans in and swallows him down.

John’s fingers make a desperate grab at his hair, try to find purchase, _anything_ to hold onto. He whines, quiet and overwhelmed, and the sound goes straight to Jedikiah’s cock. He closes his eyes and breathes in through his nose, tries to get used to the unfamiliar weight on his tongue.

It’s been years since he went down on another man, and when he did it was always more of an experiment. It’s not that he didn’t enjoy himself, it was just that he never quite knew how to turn his brain off and just … be.

His brain is very much turned off right now. He’s never felt so vulnerable, never thought he’d like it, let alone enjoy.

There’s no technique or rhythm or conscious thought. All he does is listen to John – to the sounds he makes in response to whatever Jedikiah does to him – and then build up from there. The high-pitched moans leaving John’s throat as if they’re wrenched out of it are the best; they vibrate down his spine, make him feel jittery and relaxed all at once.

They’re in the middle of the room, halfway between door and bed, but they might as well be stranded in the middle of the ocean. Everything feels disconnected, and his hold on John’s the only thing keeping him sane.

John’s fingers in his hair won’t stop flexing, and it takes him a while to figure out what it means when they go lax all of a sudden – when their grip on him goes soft and gentle, almost caressing. It has nothing to do with what he’s doing with his mouth. It’s when his own hands circle back on John’s hips, when his thumbs brush across his hip-bones, and his fingers dig into the softer flesh of his ass that John starts stroking through his hair.

So he keeps doing it.

He lets his hands rest there, fingers splayed wide open, tips just grazing John’s cleft. The reaction is immediate. A shiver runs the whole length of John’s body, makes his knees tremble and his hips buck. Jedikiah’s grip on him tenses automatically, his fingers digging into his skin, pulling his cheeks apart, and John _groans_.

It’s all over, after that.

Anything even resembling constraint flies out the window. His jaw aches, and there’s too much saliva, but each time John’s cock hits the back of his throat he wants it just that little bit more.

He’s straining against the confines of his jeans, so hard it hurts, and he has no idea what’s doing it for him most – the sounds coming out of John’s mouth, or the way his whole body reacts to every little thing he does with his tongue.

John isn’t moving, is instead pressing back into his hold and staying there. Jedikiah’s moving his head back and forth, up and down, licking along John’s length and sucking on the tip, and he can’t stop watching John’s face, can’t stop staring up at him.

There’s no guard left, he’s not hiding anything. John’s face is completely open – in pleasure as much as in mindless reliance – and Jedikiah draws immense satisfaction from the fact that he’s the one making John look like this; he’s the one John is trusting with his body, maybe even his mind, once more.

It’s clearly visible when John’s getting close to coming – his lashes fall halfway down his eyes, leaving only a tiny sliver of blue, and his lips, already bitten red and shiny with spit, draw themselves taut around weak little moans and huffs.

Jedikiah closes his left around John when he sees it, pulls off with a wet sound so obscene it makes his own cock twitch inside his pants.

John whines when he takes his mouth away, and Jedikiah pushes the fingers of his right between his cheeks, presses them against his entrance, and watches him come. The sight alone almost suffices for him to lose it as well.

He doesn’t though.

What he does is come to his senses, and then up from his knees.

He’s breathless, still painfully hard, but God, the feeling of … it’s not shame. It’s not really regret either.

He doesn’t feel _bad_ , precisely, he’s still too aroused, still wants John in any possible way. (What an exiting new development to add to his resume.) Seeing John mindless with bliss, feeling him sway against him, trusting and weak while coming down from his release is an experience far too tempting.

Not only could he get used to it – he could get addicted. It’s guilt. Of course it is. It’s always guilt.

“John,” he rasps, his voice raw, a perfect embodiment of how he feels, “God, darling, what have we done?”

He doesn’t mean to sound overly dramatic, but be that as it may – his distress is completely lost on John. All John wants to do is get as close to him as possible, now that he’s high on endorphins, still deaf and blind to the real world.

Jedikiah can’t bring himself to pull away; he has to offer his arms to John now that he took what was left of his innocence. So he allows John to press up against him, to push his face down into where his neck and shoulder meet, to close his eyes and … and feel safe with him.

It has never been quite like this – all those years of using John of, abusing his trust and affection – because now, for the first time, he hasn’t done it for Roger, or for their cause, or because it was necessary for one of his painstakingly devious plans.

He has done it for _himself_ , because he _wanted_ to, because John was there for the taking, too irresistible to refuse. He’ll never forget the taste of him, most of all because he doesn’t _want_ to. He wants to remember. Despite the guilt. Despite everything. He needs to remember John.

He loves that boy too much to forget him.

(He has always loved him, but never the proper way, has never put him first, never put his needs above all else. He wishes he could do so now, that he could do right by John at least once.)

He knows there’s no way. There’s no way how this could turn out right. They’re broken.

Jedikiah’s lost in thought, over-full of regret, and he doesn’t expect the hand between his legs. He reacts to it, though.

His eyes fall shut and his mouth opens around a surprised groan; his thighs spread and his hips push forward. John cups him over the fabric of his pants, rubs the heel of his hand up and down his length.

It’s too much, though the sensation is muted through the layers of fabric, and Jedikiah closes his hand around John’s wrist. “Please stop.”

“Wanna make you feel good, too,” John murmurs against his neck, his breath hot and moist against his skin. The words untangle something in Jedikiah, make him understand what just happened.

John never learned how to plan for the future, never had the chance to plan anything long-term. His is a spur-of-the-moment existence, made up of free-floating intervals, always interrupted, always ready to flee or fight.

He doesn’t live, he reacts. As a result, his mind has learned to compartmentalize, to put everything happy and nice in pretty little boxes, all wrapped up in shiny paper with a bow on top. It doesn’t matter if the content is slightly questionable, if it’s really worth the effort or decoration.

Sex has become a distraction from the harsh reality of John’s life, and he’ll take it whenever he can, preferably with someone he likes, but apparently someone he’s unhealthily co-dependent on will suffice.

Jedikiah kisses his temple and resolutely pulls John’s hand away. “There’s really no need, darling.”

John looks at him, then, and his eyes focus. “What’s wrong?”

Everything. Everything is wrong.

John seems to realise it, too, if far too late. His eyes widen and he pales, loses some of the satisfied flush to his skin – but he doesn’t pull away. He stays close.

It calms Jedikiah more than anything else ever could.

“That was … so wrong,” John whispers.

“Yes,” Jedikiah confirms, “it was.”

He refuses to say that he’s sorry. At least he got to make John feel good, that should count for something. Regardless, he’ll be going to hell.

“I wanted it, Jed.”

The confession takes Jedikiah by surprise, but the tears in John’s voice do not. It’s no wonder John’s horrified by his body’s reaction, by the enjoyment he got out of their encounter.

What happened is wrong on too many levels; because if he hadn’t betrayed John into hating him, he’d be his _father_.

“I wanted it – it … it felt _so good_ …”

Instead of turning and running, John presses closer, despite his distress. He’s still half naked, still uncovered and vulnerable, and Jedikiah gently pulls up his shorts, and then his jeans. He ignores the tears leaking out of the corners of John’s eyes until he can’t anymore, and carefully wipes them off.

Afterwards, he uses his handkerchief to clean up the evidence of John’s release.

“That’s only natural,” he tries to reason, tries not to focus on what his hands are doing, “it’s supposed to feel good.”

“Yeah, but not with you.” The words come out choked, weak and almost apologetic, and Jedikiah nods.

“Not with me, no. I’m sorry I did that to you, John.”

“I made you!” John chokes out, sounding startled and as scared as Jedikiah’s ever heard him. “I made you –“

John wouldn’t be John if he didn’t try to blame himself, but it’s rather unusual that he goes ahead and does it for Jedikiah.

“No. You did not. You did not push me to my knees, you did not restrain me in any way – you did not force my mouth open. You didn’t do any of those things, and –“

John silences him with a kiss, lips too soft, too yielding, and Jedikiah kisses back automatically. He holds John close, keeps his arms around him as if he could shield him from the world – when that’s clearly something he’s entirely incapable of.

It doesn’t take long until John sobs into the kiss, but he doesn’t brake it – presses closer instead, opens his mouth wider. Jedikiah accepts the invitation although he shouldn’t, takes control and lets his tongue glide into John’s mouth.

He tastes sad and sweet at once, and he clings to Jedikiah like a man lost at sea would to driftwood.

It’s when half his sobs turn to moans that Jedikiah breaks the kiss, and gently brings some distance between them. John stares at him with eyes that are incredibly blue, red rimmed and teary, completely terrified.

Jedikiah gently pulls him over to the bed, makes him sit and steps away from him.

John follows his every move, like a trapped animal, not entirely suspicious, but wary. Jedikiah slowly moves back towards the window, not the door. He doesn’t want to make it look like he’s fleeing – abandoning. They just need some space. And talk. They really need to talk.

He sits on the floor, doesn’t want to tower over John, even over the distance, lets his shoulders hunch low. “So. What now?”

John takes a deep breath, and Jedikiah fears he might be a tad too close to hyperventilating. “Do you still want me to stay? Or should I take this as my cue and vanish for good?”

John dry-swallows, takes another deep breath – and steadies. He slips on the game-face Jedikiah’s entirely too familiar with, pulls it over his real one like an old, worn cloak, fraying at the edges and almost see-through with age. “What about Roger? What about Stephen? What about your grand plan?”

That aspect of their problematic relationship is not really what he wants to talk about, but he guesses John is allowed to evade the other one for now. Roger and Stephen … they’re his responsibility, as much as John ever was. They’re his family, together with Marla and Luca, and out of all of them, Roger is probably the one who hates him least. (To be fair, Luca’s more or less indifferent, but only because he doesn’t _know_. If he did, though, he’d hate him, too.) There must be some kind of award for the Worst Uncle of the Millennium.

He looks down at his hands, empty and powerless. “I’m out of allies. I can’t accomplish anything on my own.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it.” John’s anger is no surprise, and Jedikiah almost welcomes it. John still believes in his abilities, as sinister as they might be.

It’s not what he wants to focus on, though.

“So you still want me to stay? Am I understanding this correctly? You still want me to stick around?”

When Jedikiah looks back up, John’s not meeting his gaze, is studying his own hands. “I don’t know. I don’t want you to leave, that much is alarmingly certain.”

He’s sitting hunched over on the bed, almost folding in on himself, and Jedikiah can see how hard he’s fighting to keep his composure – to keep the shivers and the tears in.

“I won’t touch you again,” Jedikiah promises him gently. And he won’t. Not if John doesn’t want him to.

John’s eyes find his almost immediately. His throat works for a few seconds without any sound coming out, and then he nods, quietly – grateful. “Thank you.”

It doesn’t even hurt all that much.

He twists and pulls a piece of paper out of his pocket, even finds a pen. Scribbling the address down feels ridiculously dangerous – but this is John. He can’t trust anyone if he can’t trust John. “This is where I’ll go. I’ll be there for about three days before moving somewhere else. If you want to contact me, it’ll have to be within these three days – otherwise we’ll have to rely on chance to meet again. I won’t leave the city, I promise.”

For a heartbeat or two, John just looks at him, before a twisted little smile pulls at his mouth and manages to shine through the tears that are still threatening to fall. “I actually believe you.”

Sometimes Jedikiah wonders who taught him to be so mean.

He gets up from the floor, manfully holding in any and all groans, hands the piece of paper to John from outstretched fingertips. “Tell Morgan I’m sorry, will you?”

John flinches, and Jedikiah realizes that the person who taught John to be mean was probably himself. John takes the peace of paper from him and puts it away without even glancing at it. He clears his throat. “What about the baby?”

Jedikiah feels nauseous even thinking about it, and he sits back down with a total lack of grace. “Truthfully? I don’t know. The very idea scares me. I think I would feel better if it really had been a lie.”

John blinks down at him, the slight change of topic distraction enough for him to somewhat relax. “You’re not … glad? Not even a little bit?”

John’s very tone suggests that he doesn’t understand Jedikiah at all, and that is just so –

“Glad? About what?” He feels like throwing up. It seems they finally have found something for him to get thoroughly upset about. “That my kid will be born into a war I instigated? I’m the one who brought Roger and the Founder together – you knew that? I’m the one who’s responsible for most of this mess, who’s only ever managed to make things worse by trying to fix them. And now the only woman I’ve ever let close to me is pregnant with my child and I’ve already tried to kill her. We both know I’d be a terrible father even without the circumstances that turn my life into a special circle of hell.”

Silence follows his words, heavy and stifling. Jedikiah stares down at the floor and so does John. They’re silent for so long that their breathing synchronizes.

“No,” John says eventually, softly and mournful. “You’d be a great father if your life was different.”

Staring at John is the only possible reaction to hearing those words. He doesn’t even know how to process them, let alone give an answer.

“You’d be … you’d be good,” John doesn’t look at him, lets his unfocused gaze drift along the dusty floor boards. “You’d make them feel safe, and loved. You’re good at that.”

Heartbreak feels peculiar, Jedikiah muses. A lot like breathing in the wrong direction.

The silence returns. It stays for so long that it feels it has taken over the whole world, spilled out from their bedroom and into the street, growing like vines.

After half an eternity Jedikiah finds his voice. “You should go home,” he says, feeling hollow, carved out, his insides all cut up. “Your friends will worry.”

John looks at him for a long, long moment, and teleports.


	3. Blame it on the Rush, the Hunger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We'll just pretend last week's episode never happened, okay? Good.

It’s been two days.

He hasn’t shaved, and he hasn’t bought new ammunition for his gun. He hasn’t been doing anything much, besides showering and eating and thinking – cataloguing. Not planning. He isn’t quite up to planning yet.

His safe-house is a comfy little apartment on the outskirts of town, old but well-maintained, with high ceilings and worn hardwood floors. He’ll be leaving it tomorrow for the next one, one he bought years ago, when life’s promises weren’t quite so empty yet.

He hasn’t heard anything from John, and he doesn’t expect to, anymore. Whatever his own feelings may be, John’s better off without him – as far away from him as possible.

The memory of going down on him still clogs up his mind, still has him alternating between guilt and a hungry arousal that almost scares him. He’s too honest with himself to even try and pretend he doesn’t want more – doesn’t want to spread John out on any available surface, doesn’t want to bend him over and fuck him ‘til he –

He wants to hold him, too, is the real trouble. He wants to kiss him, not only as a by-product of sex, but for the sake of kissing itself. It’s a selfish and twisted desire, and he’d like to make-believe he doesn’t know where it’s coming from.

He goes about his daily routine with as little self-reflection as possible, assembles facts and collects data, writes everything down, however insignificant. He’s up to three fat ring-binders now, has drawn maps of all of Ultras fronts he’s aware of, with little notes and annotations, has even marked which direction the doors open.

The work centres him, brings back the old focus that allowed him to survive in enemy territory for so long. He no longer feels quite so worn, his fraying edges smoothed over, his mind a little quieter.

He worries, though. About Stephen and what he’ll do, left alone to deal with the Founder by himself. He’s a good boy, despite his shortcomings, wants to save everyone, just like Roger did.

He’s an idealist, not practical like John, has not an ounce of the ruthlessness that characterizes Jedikiah. He’s self-righteous and stubborn, with a dangerous lack of insight into human nature. The Founder will play him like a fiddle and cut his strings once he’s done with him, burn his body.

It was Jedikiah’s silence that angered him most, that set up his hackles and drove him away – and that was intentional, that had always been the plan. Inconveniently, it might also be what’ll make him believe the Founder’s lies all the more readily.

Jedikiah can’t allow that to happen. Roger would never forgive him.

(He wouldn’t forgive him for John, either. But that’s over and done with.)

Maybe he should contact Marla, tell her about the danger her family’s in. The problem is that her distrust and hatred for him is almost as strong as Stephen’s, and even if she’d believe him, she’d never accept his advice, let alone his help.

But for all that, he needs to do _something_. His desire to flee the city has dissipated, his resolve to make a stand and fight risen up like an eldritch creature from out of forbidden depths.

Jedikiah’s hand, occupied with drawing yet another map from memory, stills. He’s sitting at the living room table, the afternoon light is bright through the drawn, half-transparent curtains to his right. He hasn’t had anything to eat since a rather meagre breakfast, and his stomach is growling in rising frustration.

He sighs, and gets up. Eating has always been a distraction he’d rather ignore while working, and treat himself with a nice dinner once the work is done.

There’ll be no treats for quite a while though, and starving himself won’t accomplish anything. So he eats. Standing up and already starting on cleaning the dishes before he’s finished, but he eats.

He returns to the living room, halts in his tracks two steps away from the table, hesitates. There’s not really anything of importance left to do.

He hasn’t bothered writing down any codes, because as frazzled Ultra may be by his disappearance, after two days even the most headless hen finds a grain of corn.

As mixed metaphors go, that’s a rather apt one.

The point is, the codes will have changed by now. His key cards are worthless. All he has is his knowledge of the organization itself, of its personnel and infrastructure, and even that may have changed under the Founder.

He’s bound to have taken full control, he always wanted to.

Jedikiah sighs and turns towards the sofa. He might as well sit down and allow his body to digest. It’s the sensible, adult thing to do.

He takes one step, and then John appears in a gust of air, right in front of him.

If he weren’t so used to it, he might panic. As it is, he merely steps back, safe distance and all. “Hello, John.”

John looks nervous to the point of anxiety, and his eyes scan the room as if he’s afraid of a sudden attack. “Hi.”

His eyes never come near Jedikiah, in fact, he looks anywhere but straight at him.

This gives Jedikiah the opportunity to study him at length, and he doesn’t like what he sees. John is too pale, too tired, the circles beneath his eyes taking over half of his face. He looks gaunt and exhausted, and his clothes are even more rumpled than usual. Jedikiah clears his throat. “Is there a reason for your visit, or did you just want to check I’m still here?”

“Both.” John finally looks at him, and the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth is rather on the desperate side. “I need your help.”

Jedikiah gestures for him to sit, because John might just keel over if he doesn’t. He watches him walk over to the old, comfortable monstrosity of a sofa, watches the upholstery trying to swallow him whole. Once John has found a safe spot to sit, Jedikiah moves towards the table, leans against it and crosses his arms in front of his chest. “What can I do for you?”

“I can’t sleep,” John states, his voice carefully flat.

Jedikiah lifts an eyebrow. “That’s rather obvious. Apart from me ruining your life, what has that to do with me?”

Nightmares might be a reason, flashes of death and desperation. Jedikiah can’t see how he could help John with that. He’d be the cause for most of those nightmares, too. John’s very own bogeyman.

“I …” John swallows, takes a deep breath. “I need you to fuck me.”

Falling backwards into lava might be comparable to what those words do to Jedikiah. The sudden rush, the inability to move, being slowly swallowed up by burning heat, consuming and relentless. (Also deadly.)

He’s rooted to the floor, doesn’t feel his legs. His arms drop to his sides, and he would gape, were his mouth not pre-occupied with dry-swallowing. “You need me to –“

“To fuck me,” John repeats, as though the first round wasn’t devastating enough, as though Jedikiah was still up and about instead of knocked out on the floor. “I can’t go on like this. I need to get it over with.”

_To get it over with._

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” He can’t allow himself to actually consider this, and anger is by far the easiest route of escape. “You can’t just turn up here and –“

John’s eyes are so full of desperation, it stops him mid-sentence.

“I can’t sleep,” he says again, but his voice is no longer flat, it’s terrified. “Your touch is all I ever think about. The memory of you on your _knees_ … it’s – it’s always there. Always. I can’t forget how it felt when you … when you touched …”

He breaks off, hunches over, makes himself as small as possible.

Jedikiah can’t believe that’s what he came for, that he really wants him to –

But he wouldn’t be here, otherwise. He wouldn’t have come. It’s only been two days, and he’s already half mad with it. His desperation is tangible, and he –

“Say something!”

The yell comes out half muffled, but that takes away none of its force. Jedikiah’s off the table and next to the sofa before he’s wrapped his head around what’s happening, has gone down on one knee and taken John’s hands in his half a heartbeat later. “Calm down, kiddo. Please calm down.”

“I can’t,” John chokes out, words half drowned in tears, although his eyes are dry. “Even … even just thinking about it, _imagining it_ is driving me insane. I need to know how it feels, Jed. I need you to make it real so I can stop wondering.”

His hands start to shake, and Jedikiah tightens his hold on them. “John, you know that I can’t –“

“Of course you can!” There’s an almost manic light in John’s eyes when he looks at him. His gaze is fixed, rigid and so focused it’s almost hypnotizing. “You have no morals or conscience! What difference does it make to you who the body you fuck belongs to?”

Jedikiah doesn’t let go of John’s hands, because if he did, his own would be empty to do with as he pleases, and right now, he’s not sure what that might be.

John takes one look at his face and freezes. “I’m sorry.” It’s half whisper, half sob, and Jedikiah forgives him instantly. “I didn’t mean that. All those years, and you’ve never touched me like that, whatever else you may have done, but you’ve never –“

“Stop, John. Stop and breathe …” He comes up far enough so he can sit next to John on the sofa and take him into his arms. His eyes close when John comes willingly, immediately presses against him.

“I want it so bad,” he hears him whisper, his voice hushed, full of shame. “I don’t know why, but I do. I’m so sorry.”

Jedikiah knows he’s lost when the situation actually arouses him, when he not only wants to comfort John, but give him what he asks for. “Relax,” he murmurs, the guilt making his words taste like ash, “It’s okay, it’s all okay.”

“No, it’s not!” John clings to him with both hands, is half on his lap, his whole body trembling. “I feel _dirty_ even thinking about it … but I’ve tried to ignore it, and I can’t – touching myself doesn’t help, nothing helps!”

Jedikiah pulls his arms tighter around him, bites his lower lip. “I see.”

It’s only been two days. He might calm down by himself, given enough time. Sex is a distraction, a balm for John – medicine – they shouldn’t turn it into poison. “Maybe we should wait until –“

“I don’t want to wait, I want you to fuck me.” John’s fingers dig into his chest. Jedikiah realizes he’s already aroused underneath his agitation, hears it in his voice, feels it in the tiny tremors in this fingers. It sends a bolt of sudden heat through him. “Please, Jed.”

“I want to,” he admits, has to talk against the rising buzzing in his ears, his blood screaming at him to just go and do it already, and damn the consequences. “God, I want to. I want to give you everything you need, John. But did you consider that it might actually make matters worse – that you … that you might enjoy it and … and want more?”

“It can’t get worse,” John claims, and his hands find their way on naked skin, much steadier now that Jedikiah has admitted his own desire. “Not knowing what it’s like is what’s driving me insane. I need to _know_.”

Jedikiah opens his eyes to look at him, needs to see the expression on his face. It doesn’t help, not really. John’s skin is flushed, and he looks feverish. His eyes are too bright, gleaming with a mix between want and shame, making him look like an addict who’s given up the fight.

John’s hands have wormed their way beneath Jedikiah’s T-Shirt, are gently exploring naked skin, and it feels terribly familiar when it really, really shouldn’t. “Please, Jed,” he whispers, doesn’t try for sexy or seductive, but _is_ , “I’ll be good for you, I promise.”

It’s Jedikiah’s own, personal doom nicely rolled up and neatly cut into seven words.

“Come here,” he says, red mist clouding his vision and his judgement. He pulls John onto his lap and close to him. “Is this what you want?”

“Yeah,” John confirms, lids drooping and pupils dilating. Jedikiah can feel him getting hard already.

It’s not right, and it never will be, but it could always be worse. John could actually be his son. That would make it worse.

The thought doesn’t stop him. Few things ever do, and his conscience isn’t one of them. His blood feels like acid running through his veins, biting and too hot. He doesn’t feel entirely human anymore, his skin crawling with an almost demonic hunger for this boy who he used to love like he was his own kid.

“Can I …” John licks his lips, lets his gaze drop to Jedikiah’s mouth, “… can I kiss you?”

It’s not as if Jedikiah has anything left to lose. “You can do anything you like.”

John surges forward before the words are fully out, licks the last one off Jedikiah’s tongue and swallows it. There’s nothing coy or shy about their kiss; it’s blatantly greedy, wanton and unrestrained right from the start.

John’s mouth is warm, his lips soft and welcoming. He’s making needy little noises, unselfconscious and starving. Jedikiah licks into his mouth with mindless abandon, gives into the desire of tasting him, of exploring and laying claim to it.

John’s hips are rocking back and forth, his warm weight above Jedikiah constantly shifting. The old sofa is sturdy and yielding beneath him, allows him to lean back and spread his legs a little.

John groans appreciatively, und Jedikiah doesn’t understand how he can need this so much that it turns all his former disdain to blind want. He welcomes it, though, welcomes every touch and every little noise that comes out of John’s mouth.

He likes the feeling of John over him, enjoys having him so close, relishes his taste and his smell. His hands glide up and down John’s back, first over the soft Henley he’s wearing and then under it. John’s skin is smooth and warm, and his breath hitches every time Jedikiah’s fingertips brush an old scar.

Jedikiah grips the Henley’s hem, pulls it up and off of John, lets it drop onto the sofa. It’s not like he’s never seen John without his shirt on – countless times even – but in this context, with John’s hard dick a very noticeable feature in the constraints of his still buttoned jeans, it makes Jedikiah dizzy.

John doesn’t seem to be aware of the effect he’s having on him. He leans forward and back into Jedikiah as soon as the Henley is off, breathless and eager.

“I … I brought lube,” he half moans half whispers against Jedikiah’s lips. He pulls it out of his jeans pocket, followed by square foil packets. “… And condoms.”

Jedikiah spreads his right hand on his naked back, proprietary, claiming, “I like your determination. But maybe we should start with getting you completely naked? Maybe move this to the bedroom?”

“I don’t care where,” John grates out, rocks into Jedikiah almost forcefully, lets his supplies fall onto the sofa.

“I’m aware,” Jedikiah comments, puts his left hand on John’s hip, tries to slow and soften his movements. His right slips lower on John’s back, down to his ass, and he can’t ignore how John stills suddenly, how his eyes turn dark and liquid.

“There?” he asks, his voice hoarse, and John just nods, bites his lower lip and lets his lashes drop.

Jedikiah thumbs open his jeans and pulls down the zipper. He doesn’t waste any time, pushes his hands into John’s shorts, lets them glide to the back, down and over his ass. He spreads his fingers like he did two days ago, and presses them into the soft flesh.

John whimpers and rocks up to his knees, plasters himself across Jedikiah’s front.

Jedikiah makes noises at him as if he was a skittish animal, and John dips his head and swallows them, kisses him so fiercely it almost hurts.

“Touch me,” he gasps, breathless and _horny_ , “make me feel it.”

Jedikiah brushes his fingertips across his entrance, feather-light, almost hesitant, and John’s throat escapes a wounded sound. “Yeah, harder – harder, Jed, please.”

So he uses index and middle finger of his right to press against John’s hole, massages the tight ring of muscle without pushing in – and witnesses John breaking down.

It starts slowly, with John letting his head drop on Jedikiah’s shoulder and letting out a low, helpless whine. The sound sends a hot bolt of pleasure down Jedikiah’s spine, has him opening his own pants and taking out his aching cock.

“Jed,” he hears John choke out, and when he looks up, John is staring down at his lap, his expression a mixture of fear and naked want.

It occurs to him that John’s never been with another man before, that he’s never seen a cock that wasn’t his own up close – has never touched one, and certainly never had one inside him before.

“Afraid?” Jedikiah asks him gently, and John nods, honest and even more ashamed than before.

Jedikiah moves his right hand, then, moves to take it out of John’s shorts, and his fingers brush over John’s entrance once more. It startles a moan out of John, and he twists, closes his fingers around Jedikiah’s wrist, keeps his hand in place. “Don’t stop.”

Jedikiah doesn’t argue.

Instead he pushes John’s jeans down as far as they will go with his free hand, then pushes the shorts after them.

“I’ll make you feel good,” he promises, his voice low and husky, too full of emotion, “I promise you, kiddo.”

The term of endearment slips out unintentionally, and it makes John shiver.

“You want me to open you up?” he asks, keeps his tone as politely enquiring as he can, which isn’t much, really. “Put my fingers inside you?”

John takes a deep breath that rocks his whole body and nods, bites his lip so hard all the blood’s cut off.

Jedikiah places a kiss slightly to the left of his lips, makes him release them from his teeth. “Then get your pants off, okay? Get them off for me.”

For a heartbeat or two, John looks at him as though he doesn’t understand the request – as though he couldn’t possibly fathom why Jedikiah would want him to get naked. But then his iron grip around Jedikiah’s wrist loosens, and he slides backwards and off his lap.

His movements are jerky and unsure, as if his muscles aren’t quite under his control, his knees too weak to keep him up steadily.

He almost falls, taking off his shoes and socks. Today’s jeans aren’t quite so tight as the ones he wore two days ago, and they go down readily, pool around his ankles, quickly followed by his shorts. He steps out of them and kicks them to the side, almost falls forward and back onto Jedikiah’s lap.

The sudden abundance of naked skin is overwhelming, and for a moment Jedikiah’s distracted – can’t stop his hands from gliding all over it, from stroking and petting and _caressing_.

John lets him, is too preoccupied with clinging to his shoulders. It seems like his own nakedness is overwhelming _him_ as well – as if sitting completely naked on Jedikiah’s lap is far, far more unsettling than while wearing actual pants.

“Jed,” he whispers, his voice small and terrified, thick with arousal and helpless need, “Jed …”

“It’s okay, kiddo, I got you,” Jedikiah whispers back, closes his arms around him and pulls him close to his chest. The movement causes their erections to brush against each other, results in a delicious friction that’s not intentional at all, and thus all the more exiting.

John sobs and clings to him all the more frantic, and Jedikiah can feel the flush spreading over his skin, _all that skin_ , can feel the warmth spreading under his fingers – a rush of blood so enticing it leaves him feeling a strange blend of weak and indestructible.

“I got you,” he repeats, while John presses his face into his neck, his erratic breath hot and moist on his skin. He moves his hips in helpless little thrusts, whimpering as if he’s in pain.

John seems so entirely unable to take a hold of himself that it drives Jedikiah a little mad – and he puts his hands on John’s naked ass, grabs it and spreads his cheeks until the whimpering turns to moans, until John’s writhing against him, feverish and desperate.

“You still want this?” Jedikiah asks him, and the question comes out surprisingly tender. He follows it up with brushing a kiss to John’s temple, closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “You’re certain you want this?”

John nods, and his lips drag over Jedikiah’s heated skin. “Need you”, he murmurs, “need you so bad.”

Jedikiah takes another deep breath. “Okay then. Where has that lube of yours disappeared to?”

He opens his eyes to discover it’s still lying where John dropped it on the sofa, a small bottle with a snap-open lid, easy to handle with one hand. Jedikiah reaches for it with his right, puts his left to the small of John’s back, keeps him steady. “Is this something you just had lying around, or -?”

“I bought it,” John clarifies, and his eyes meet Jedikiah’s for a brief, heart-stuttering moment, “I went to a pharmacy and bought it … and then I came straight over.”

The deliberation behind it all, the conscious decision to come to him and ask for this – to ask for this twisted sort of help … it warms him. It shouldn’t, but it does.

It’s not trust that brought John to him, it’s desperation and his belief that Jedikiah’s the only one who can give him what he needs. Maybe he’s right about that – Jedikiah doesn’t know. Maybe he really is the only one John wants and needs like this.

He snaps the lid open with a flick of his thumb, and covers his index finger in lube. If this really is John’s first time, he’ll need to take things slow, be as careful as he can. Because whatever the reasons behind this, he mustn’t hurt John. He could reduce the preparation to a bare minimum and ride the edge between pleasure and pain, force John to get used to it and learn to love it. He doesn’t want that.

“Don’t startle,” he cautions, brings his hand down to John’s ass, “it might be a bit cold.”

His hands feel hot, though, so it probably won’t be.

John’s clinging to him again, his fingers clawing into the fabric of his t-shirt so violently he can practically hear it ripping apart. The condition of his t-shirt isn’t what bothers him, however. “You need to relax a little, darling, or I’ll hurt you.”

John lets out a long breath, becomes small and fragile on Jedikiah’s lap. “I don’t know how.”

Jedikiah gently presses his finger against John’s hole, covers it in lube, warm and slippery. “Touch yourself a bit, take your mind off it.”

John hesitates, then very carefully removes the fingers of his right from Jedikiah’s t-shirt, brings his hand down and closes it around himself.

“Yeah, that’s it,” Jedikiah comments, can already feel him loosen up, “that’s good.”

He stares down to where John’s fingers encircle his erection, their skin pale in comparison to the dark flush of his hard cock. His own hardens in accordance, and John’s movements falter. “Should I -?”

“I won’t last if you do.”

John looks up at him, surprise on his face, and Jedikiah manages a smile. “Believe it or not, this affects me, too.”

John’s lashes are very long, and when he blinks, they seem to move in slow-motion. “But … I want to.”

He sounds honest and surprised all at once, and Jedikiah kisses him, softly and with closed lips. “Then go ahead, kiddo. I want you to enjoy yourself.”

There’s the brief flicker of a smile around John’s mouth, and then he lets go of his own erection in favour of Jedikiah’s. His hand is hot, the palm dry and a bit rough, and Jedikiah hisses, and his heartbeat stutters in pleasure.

His fingertip presses against John’s entrance with a little more force, and John moans, licks his lips and draws his fingers a bit tighter together. “It feels … different.”

His voice is whispery and soft, as if he’s sharing a secret, and Jedikiah feels his mouth draw into a smile again. “Use some lube, too – it’ll feel better.”

He lets his fingertip circle John’s hole, enjoys the quivering of muscle for a moment before he pushes in. John seizes up for all of two seconds before he relents. His lids droop and his mouth goes lax, lets out a surprised little “Oh.”

“Good?” Jedikiah asks, and John nods, lets his eyes fall shut.

“Yeah … good.”

Jedikiah pushes deeper, carefully circles his finger until he’s in to the first knuckle. “Still good?”

John just nods again, lets out a breathy moan. “I … I feel full.” His fingers are tight around Jedikiah, and in combination with his voice, _with what he’s saying_ , it’s almost too much.

Jedikiah grits his teeth and tries to fight against the rising wave of arousal that threatens to overturn him. Just when he thinks he’s failing, John takes his hand away, reaches for the bottle of lube.

He’s a bit unsteady, fumbles with the lid until he gets it open, and Jedikiah thinks he’s distracted and relaxed enough for him to go deeper. His finger glides in easily enough, is swallowed up by heat and tightness.

Even the idea of being inside that, of being inside John, is forcing Jedikiah to take deep, calming breaths.

“You can … you can go faster now,” John tells him, his voice surprisingly steady, if a tad too rough. His knuckles are white where he’s holding on to the bottle of lube, though. “I can take it.”

Jedikiah shushes him with a kiss. That’s not how he wants this to go. “I know, kiddo. I am painfully aware that you can take _a lot_ before giving in – but that’s not how it has to be. I’d rather you enjoy yourself.”

“I am,” John stresses, licks his lips and returns Jedikiah’s kiss. “And I want you to go faster.”

Jedikiah relents. “As you wish.”

He moves his finger with more purpose, circles it around and around until John is loose enough to add a second one. John rewards him by jacking him off, slow and a bit clumsy, clearly unused to touching someone else like this. But the lube is warm and slick, turns his touch into something forbidden – even more than it already is – and his inexperience somehow only adds to the pleasure. He holds on to Jedikiah with his left hand all the while, doesn’t let go for even one second.

Jedikiah scissors him open, is uncompromisingly careful, gentle to the point of over-protectiveness, but he doesn’t waste any time. He prepares John as thoroughly as he can, efficient, and with his very own attention to detail.

The longer it takes, the more frazzled John becomes. He doesn’t exactly tell Jedikiah to hurry – he doesn’t need to – and he can’t. He’s almost pre-verbal by the time Jedikiah adds a third finger, stretches him wider than he ever was, fills him up, true and good.

“You’re almost ready,” he tells John, whispers it next to his bent head. He twists and turns his fingers inside John, pushes them in and out. “You want me to take this to the next level?”

“Yeah,” John says, sounding sluggish, drugged, “please – please, please do.”

If nothing else kills him, the begging just might.

John has forgotten to be afraid, has no self-awareness left. When Jedikiah pulls his fingers out, he keens, helpless and discontented, licks a sloppy trail across Jedikiah’s neck. “P-please, Jed, please don’t …”

“I won’t stop, darling, don’t worry.” Jedikiah’s painfully hard by now, leaking at the tip, more than ready to go. He couldn’t draw this out even if he wanted to. “You want to get on your hands and knees for me?”

John nods emphatically and gets off his lap, his knees noticeably weak. He looks around, catalogues their surroundings – and walks straight over to the table, bends over it.

That’s not quite what Jedikiah had in mind, but he doesn’t argue. He’s not sure he remembers how. He gets up and off the sofa, picks a condom at random, and follows John to the table. “This is how you want it?”

John turns his head and looks at him, dark blue irises the faintest ring around blown-wide pupils. His legs are spread; he shows off everything – his leaking cock, flushed and hard, curving towards his belly … his hole, relaxed and slick with lube.

Jedikiah doesn’t ask again. He gets the condom out of its foil and rolls it on, then steps between John’s legs, lines himself up and pushes in.


	4. Blame it on our Past, our Future

John takes it like he was made for it. He’s all heat, yielding and greedy, sucks Jedikiah in inch by inch, until he’s all the way inside him, his balls resting against John’s ass.

There’s not enough air in the room, not enough air in the whole world.

John holds on to the table with an iron grip, holds himself in place, legs spread wide and ass pushed out. His lips are parted, shiny with spit, and he doesn’t keep his voice down, doesn’t even try to be quiet.

His hips are quivering, just the tiniest bit, but it’s not from fear or pain. As soon as Jedikiah starts moving, John starts moaning.

He lets Jedikiah hear just how much he likes it, and oh God does he ever. For some reason, Jedikiah didn’t expect that.

Even after how John reacted to him touching his ass, his dick, his hole, he still didn’t expect John letting go like this, giving it up to him with such abandon. He doesn’t stop moaning, doesn’t stop pushing back, fucks himself on Jedikiah’s cock with greedy little thrusts. He’s _perfect_.

Jedikiah has both hands on his hips to help him stay upright and not jam into the table with every single thrust. He’s trying to start of slow, he really is, but the truth of the matter is that John’s tight heat is driving him crazy.

There’s no danger of hurting him, though, he’s made sure of that. John definitely doesn’t complain when his thrusts turn a bit harder – sharper. He just moans louder.

Jedikiah digs his fingers into the smooth skin over his hips, and tries to focus on something else besides the slick-hot slide of his cock inside of John. His gaze drops onto John’s back, takes in the muscles shifting beneath the skin, the faded scars.

He’s beautiful, always has been.

But now, with the way his head is bent, his whole posture one of submission and obedience, with the way he’s just _taking_ it … Jedikiah’s never felt the urge to possess someone before, to make them _his_.

A part of him is aware where the desire is coming from, that it’s primal and _stupid_ , but that doesn’t stop him from digging his nails in and marking.

The sounds leaving John’s throat sound different, suddenly. He’s twisted his head around, looks at Jedikiah through his lashes, pupils blown so wide that is eyes are almost all black. Jedikiah’s nails dig a little deeper, leave crescent-shaped marks in the pale skin. John lets his head drop on his folded arms, lets his lashes fall and whimpers out Jedikiah’s name.

The sound travels all the way to the centre of his spine, sends shivers of pleasure through him. He’s not sure how he feels, he’s not even sure what he wants. It shouldn’t be this, but he doesn’t stop, doesn’t even try to.

The harder his grip on John’s hips becomes, the tighter John gets. He’s not pushing back any more, keeps himself still for Jedikiah to fuck, ass raised high in invitation.

For a few seconds, Jedikiah wishes it wasn’t like this, that John wasn’t in this position – he wishes John was on his back instead, that he could look at his face and see if he was okay, if he was really enjoying this as much as he makes it sound.

Jedikiah feels trapped in his own skin, has done so for most of his life. Now, with John in front of him, moaning in pleasure while Jedikiah takes what was left of his independence, it’s even more restrictive than usual.

He’s too close already, can feel his release creeping up on him.

He doesn’t want to come yet, wants to draw it out and make John feel so good he forgets his own name, but that’s not going to happen. He’s going to come rather sooner than later, so he takes his right hand off John’s hip, reaches around and closes it around John’s cock instead. John gasps and moans his name again.

The sound of skin slapping on skin is loud in the room, or maybe just his ears. By rights, he shouldn’t be able to hear anything but the rushing of his own blood.

John’s making breathless “ah, ah, ah” noises, is so clearly enjoying himself that it wrecks Jedikiah a little. He _wants_ John to like it, love it even – so he doesn’t understand why the fact that he does almost hurts.

Maybe it’s because he loves John enough for wanting _better_ for him, even if he can’t be the one to make it happen. With him, John will only ever get something tainted and twisted. With him, all John will ever have is … this.

John tightens around him, suddenly, clamps down on him and _shudders_ , and it takes Jedikiah a second or two to realize that he’s coming, is spilling over his hand in thick spurts, hot and wet.

His own orgasm slams into him like a freight train.

On some level, he’s never liked the loss of control when it happens, when he’s so high he can’t see himself looking down. Now, all he sees is John. John’s presence is grounding him, is keeping Jedikiah tethered to reality while he loses himself inside of him.

His vision doesn’t so much black-out as erase everything that isn’t John. It’s frightening and wonderful all at once, and his knees weaken so much he has to lean forward, redistribute his weight.

Automatically, his hands relocate to John’s shoulders when his upper body bends down, hold on to him in a way he hasn’t to anyone, ever. He feels strangely safe.

It must be the rush.

He leans his forehead against John’s back, closes his eyes and tries to get his breathing under control. He’s still coming, buried inside John. Everything is heat, flames licking at his skin from inside, and for once, it feels good to be burning.

It seems like an eternity passes, and then it’s over, he’s spent, has nothing more to give. His limbs feel heavy with contentment, and he brushes a kiss to John’s skin, gently lets go of his shoulders.

John makes a broken noise when he pulls out, sways back and against him. It’s like he tries to keep him in, and Jedikiah makes soothing noises at him, strokes his back, his ass. “It’s okay, darling. It’s all okay.”

He moves them towards the sofa, makes John sit and leaves to get rid of the condom and get cleaning supplies. His body doesn’t feel like it belongs entirely to him, but his feet move by themselves, take him where he needs to go.

When he comes back into the living room, John’s still on the sofa, leaning back, legs slightly parted, and eyes closed, as unselfconscious as ever. Jedikiah’s feet move without his input once again, and he finds himself in front of John and on his knees, gently cleaning him up with a lukewarm washcloth.

John opens his eyes when he touches him, and there’s a smile in his eyes, genuine and warm. Jedikiah’s throat closes up. He leans up and in, presses his mouth to Johns.

It’s gentle, this time, unrushed and soft. John puts his arms around his neck and holds on to him, his body relaxed and loose. It’s almost like they’re … okay.

John tastes satisfied, peaceful in a way he hasn’t been in a long, long time, and Jedikiah starts caressing him almost accidentally. There is no real intent behind his movements, none beside the unconscious desire to give comfort.

John makes a small noise when Jedikiah starts touching him, a happy little sigh at the back of his throat. He’s obviously still half offline, his mind not yet back down to earth and the harsh reality that is their life.

There’s a comforter hanging over the back of the couch, and Jedikiah drags it off and towards him, spreads it over John, covers him up. “Do you want to sleep?”

Because at some point, John will realise what this is, but until that happens, Jedikiah wants him to get as much rest as possible.

John gets his hands above the comforter and pulls it up to his chin. “Yeah. I’m … I’m really tired.” He gets horizontal on the sofa, and Jedikiah forcefully stops himself from tucking him in. They just had sex. He can’t treat him like a kid. The mixed messages would fry his brain.

“You’re … you’re not leaving, are you?” John mumbles when Jedikiah gets up and stands beside the sofa. “You’ll still be here when I wake up?”

“Of course,” Jedikiah promises. “I’ll be here.”

John smiles sleepily; his cheeks are flushed, his hair a mess. “Good.”

He falls asleep half a second later, and Jedikiah turns on his heel and stalks out of the room and towards the shower. Possibly a cold one.

 

Jedikiah’s there, when John wakes up. He’s sitting at the table again, has turned on the lights to keep out the creeping gloom of dusk. There’s a book in front of him he actively remembers three lines from, although he’s on page 87.

He’s spent a few hours very deliberately not watching John sleep, has debated leaving the room a few times – but without any real place to go, he’s discarded the idea each and every time it’s reared its ugly head.

He made a promise to be there when John wakes up, so he can’t leave the apartment – and even if he hadn’t made that promise, he’d still stay. As complicated as their relationship is, he doesn’t want John to wake up alone.

He can only imagine what John would think, what conclusions he’d come up with – and John’s imagination has always been so much more fruitful than his. The results would be terrifying.

So he stayed, ignored the sleeping figure on the sofa, and tried not think about what they did, how it felt – how he feels now.

(He doesn’t blame John, but he doesn’t blame himself either. At least not more than usual. Only his definition of a guilty pleasure has taken on a new, exciting twist.)

His shoulders are tense and his back is sore, and when John makes a confused little noise halfway between sleeping and waking, he lifts his head too fast, feels the resulting twinge in his whole body.

And then the comforter goes flying, and John sits up to stare at him. The silence grows between them, sucks all the air out of the room and replaces it with cotton. It’s getting to the point where it’s entirely too hard to breathe, and Jedikiah watches John open and close his mouth a few times.

Eventually, he has enough.

“Don’t you dare ask me what happened,” Jedikiah says quietly. “You know damn well what happened.”

John, belatedly noticing that he’s completely naked, pulls the comforter back over himself. He still doesn’t say anything, but his eyes are communicative enough, speak of confusion and fear mingled with desperation.

“You’re regretting it, yes?” Jedikiah asks, just as quietly as before – and John shakes his head, looks him straight in the eyes.

“No. I don’t.”

Denial is such a waste of time. Jedikiah should know. He has a fearful amount of practise. Enough experience for a lifetime, maybe five.

“Good,” he says, nevertheless. “It would be a shame, wouldn’t it? Regretting the one good time we had together?”

He’s aware of how he sounds – bitter and sorry for himself – and he closes his eyes, rests his face in his hands for a few seconds. “Sorry, kiddo. That came out wrong.”

“Yeah,” John says, and describing him as sounding weird would mean understating the situation immensely.

Jedikiah lets his hands drop and re-opens his eyes to look at him. The confusion has spread on John’s face, and resulted in a heated blush, tips of his ears pink enough that it looks like he’s working himself into a fever.

“What’s the matter?” Jedikiah asks. Thinks. Grimaces. “Apart from the obvious.”

John turns his head to look at him, blinks ridiculously long lashes in his direction. “You … you liked it, didn’t you? I mean … you kissed me after.”

Jedikiah feels his eyebrows draw together in mild confusion. “Was I not supposed to?”

Well. Of course he wasn’t. He’s supposed to feel nothing but disgust with himself.

“You were … you were so gentle,” John murmurs, mostly to himself. “I don’t understand why you did that.”

“Because … I wanted to?” Jedikiah doesn’t mean to turn that statement into a question, but John’s confusion is getting to him. He expected anger, tears, maybe even a second round of ill-advised sex. But not this.

“You were … still rather loopy, and I just …”

_Took care of you._

He can’t say that. Even thinking it feels sleazy. He took care of John, yes – in several ways, most of them severely punishable according to the moral guidelines of more than one religion. Not that he’s ever been the religious type. But if he was, he’d reign somewhere in hell, to be sure. He’d _own_ his crown.

“It felt nice.” Again, it sounds as if John is talking to himself, and Jedikiah doesn’t know if he should be gratified by the sudden absence of dread in his voice.

“I’m not quite sure where you’re going with this,” he says, clears his throat when he notices the gravel coating his words. “I don’t pretend to know what you get up to with other people, but usually, if done correctly and among consenting participants, sex does feel good. And I admit that the consent part is difficult when it comes to us, but you were more than _willing_ , and so was I. So … what’s your hang-up?”

John looks at him with _puppy-eyes_ , and Jedikiah is not equipped to deal with that – not after he’s slept with him … not ever.

“What?” he asks, much softer than intended. “What is it, kiddo?”

John’s fingers fumble with the hem of the comforter, trace the stitching, back and forth. He’s looking straight at Jedikiah. “I’m still waiting for the other shoe to drop, I guess.”

“John.” Jedikiah couldn’t keep the irony out of his voice if he melted it down and buried it ten feet deep in the earth. “That shoe was lost years ago. It’s gone.”

John’s lips twitch, and he nods. “That’s what I feared. It just all feels … too normal, I guess.”

Jedikiah puts his elbows on the table, interlaces his fingers, and directs a somewhat bemused gaze at John. “I must admit that the lack of drama enlivening this scene makes me deeply suspicious.”

John nods, then raises one shoulder, painfully naked. “I came to you. You only did what I asked you to do.”

Logic can be an awful, awful thing.

“And what now?” Jedikiah pointedly refrains from looking him up and down. Knowing what’s below that comforter – intimately – has shifted something between them, and he’s not sure it’s the obvious.

John returns his gaze, a little lost, and Jedikiah sighs, fights a smile. “How about a shower? And food. When’s the last time you ate?”

John hugs the comforter to himself and doesn’t answer for a moment, then he very, very hesitantly gets up and lets it drop. “A … a shower sounds great.”

He’s blushing, the way he keeps himself up seems a bit … stiff, and the realisation that he’s maybe a bit sore, that he’s still _feeling_ him, makes Jedikiah clear his throat and get up from the table a smidgen too hastily. His chair almost topples over backwards. “I’ll show you to the bathroom.”

He doesn’t move towards John. Instead he walks over to the door, and waits there for John to join him and follow him out of the room and down the floor. They very consciously do not touch.

The door to the bathroom is open, and he halts beside it, turns around to look in John’s general direction, but never straight at him. “Take everything you need. Don’t bother cleaning up behind you.”

“Okay,” John agrees, his voice soft. “Thank you.”

Jedikiah leaves him before he’s even made a move towards the open door.

He cooks, using up the remaining food in the fridge, then cleans up the living room table … finishes his ring-binders, writes down the address of his next safe house.

Just when he’s putting the pencil back into the office cabinet he took it from, John comes back into the room. There’s a towel around his waist. It’s not sitting high enough to hide the marks Jedikiah left on him, drawing his gaze and making it linger. Just a few seconds too long.

John clears his throat, and Jedikiah’s eyes snap up to his face. John’s blushing again.

“Sorry,” Jedikiah says. “I cooked. Are you hungry?”

There’s not enough food for two, but if John wants it, it’s his. The last proper meal he had was probably while he was hiding out at Marla’s. Jedikiah can go and get something for himself before he settles into the next safe-house.

“I’m … I really am,” John admits, then looks around for his clothes. “I just … let me get dressed, first.”

“You do that,” Jedikiah agrees, and turns his back on the living room to go and get the food out of the kitchen. When he comes back, John is fully clothed and eyes the single plate Jedikiah sets on the table with a certain amount of confusion.

“Where, uhm … Only one?”

Jedikiah just shrugs. He doesn’t want to explain himself, doesn’t want to go into details about his desire to make sure John is well rested, well fed, and healthy. It’d be okay if it was a by-product of them sleeping together, but it’s not – and they both know it. “Just eat. I’ll get something for myself later.”

Hesitation glides over John’s face, mingled with _guilt_ of all things – but then his stomach growls, loud and demanding, and Jedikiah emphatically gestures down at the steaming plate of food. “Eat, for God’s sake!”

John sits down and does without another objection.

 

“I … made you something,” Jedikiah says from his place on the sofa, once John is finished, the plate more or less licked clean.

John freezes, then a quietly delighted grin spreads over his face. “Did you use glitter? Are there sparkles?”

In some other universe, Jedikiah would put on his most unimpressed face, display no reaction at all to this nonsense. In this universe, where they’re supposed to hate – well maybe not hate … it’s complicated – each other, all he can do is smile fondly and point his chin towards the ring-binders sitting at the end of the table. “I’ll make sure to use some the next time.”

John lifts both eyebrows, visibly intrigued, and gets up to look at the binders. He browses through the first one, and his eyebrows climb even higher on his forehead.

“You’re sure?” he asks Jedikiah, his gaze unwavering and full of surprise. “You’re sure you want me to have these?”

“I made them for you,” Jedikiah replies calmly. “I don’t need them.”

The knowledge in those binders will make John’s life a little easier, and a lot safer. Most of the content is just locations, personnel identification as well as weaponry and gadget specifics, but there’s also research, details about Ultra’s programs and testing John and his rag-tag group of rebels have had no clue about until now.

There’s also a minute description of the Machine and its many terrifying functions in there. Jedikiah hopes John finds and reads it in time and talks to Stephen about it before the Founder gets to the kid.

“Thank you,” John says, closing the binder. “For … for everything.”

It sounds a lot like a final goodbye, and Jedikiah tries not to think about the scrap of paper that’s threatening to burn a hole into his pocket. Seems like John won’t need his new address after all.

They just look at each other for a very long moment. The desire to give John a hug is ridiculously tempting, but Jedikiah stays where he is, patiently waiting for John to leave, so that he can do the same.

“You’ll … move tonight?” John asks him, tentative and surprisingly shy.

Jedikiah nods. “Yeah. I have a place that might serve as a base for … well, I don’t know yet. Some of Ultra’s agents sympathize with your … _our_ cause. I’ll try to contact them.”

That information leaves John looking as if he was struck by lightning, dazed and amazed, and Jedikiah very carefully does not smile. “They’re only human, John. Despite their futuristic label. You should know.”

_You were one of them._

“It’s easy to forget sometimes,” John responds, his voice soft and thoughtful. “It’s easier to fight them pretending we’re not the same.”

“Understandable,” Jedikiah admits. He gets up, stretches his shoulders. “I need to get moving. I’ve got a long drive ahead of me. Take the folders with you, okay? I’ve got a cleaning agency coming in tomorrow, and they’d just throw them out – I instructed them to be thorough.”

John turns towards him, eyes apprehensive, his mouth pulled into a slight frown. The sudden aura of discontent licking at his skin looks good on him. “Are you really making me ask for it?”

Jedikiah’s not stupid. He never was. Nevertheless, he’s confused, not by what John means by that question, but by him actually _asking_. “You’re sure you really want it?”

“I’m not fully convinced you’re our ally yet,” John replies, as stoic as he can manage – which basically means not at all, “but I guess I’ll never be.”

Jedikiah smirks appreciatively and walks over to him, pulls the scrap of paper out of his pocket. John takes it from him, and their fingers brush. Strangely, there’s no bolt of heat, no flame of sudden desire burning him up from inside. There’s just the warmth of John’s hand, the calluses on his fingertips.

“Take care,” Jedikiah says quietly. “Try to sleep more. You look exhausted.”

“Don’t mom me,” John retorts, the words so obviously automatic that it makes Jedikiah grin, even if it hurts him a little.

“I apologise.”

Silence stretches out between them, a moment so big it nearly bursts at the edges, filled with such a number of unspoken words and (empty?) promises it makes Jedikiah dizzy. And then John hugs him, suddenly, leans into his space and puts his arms around him, and Jedikiah hugs back, relief flooding his system and cancelling out everything else.

“Thank you,” John murmurs into the skin of his neck. “Thank you so much.”

He sounds _fervent_ , absolutely genuine, and Jedikiah’s hands glide over his back, gentle and careful. “It was time.”

He doesn’t specify what he means by that, and John doesn’t ask. He merely holds on to him for a little while longer, trusting and serene like he hasn’t been in a very, very long time.

The thought of losing him, of losing his warmth and closeness hurts, even if it comes years too late. He’s already lost John. He’s gone. One afternoon of whatever it was they were doing won’t change that. One hug won’t change that either.

Realizing that, he’s the first to let go – not John – and he puts his hands on John’s shoulders, squeezes them gently. “Take care, kiddo.”

“I’ll try,” John says, and his smile looks a little forced. “But I don’t know what I’m up against.”

Jedikiah lets his hands drop off John’s shoulders. “The binders will help. I’ve put some psychological profiles in there.”

“Of course you did.” John sounds almost fond, and Jedikiah really needs him to leave now. He’s starting to feel stretched, his skin too tight over his bones, far too breakable.

“Try to protect Stephen, will you?” It’s a lot to ask of him, and Jedikiah regrets the words almost instantly. He knows John will do exactly that whether he asks him to or not. There’s just no need for additional pressure. So he shakes his head a little, apologetic – hopes John understands him. “Forget … forget I said anything.”

“It’s so weird that you care,” John murmurs, and by the way he bites his lip directly afterwards, Jedikiah guesses he wasn’t supposed to hear that. “Sorry.”

There are no words to describe how it makes him feel – John apologizing to him. ‘Guilt’ just doesn’t cut it. If there’s one person in the whole worlds who’s allowed to be mean, brutally honest, maybe even cruel to Jedikiah, it’s John.

Nevertheless, he’s kind. Always has been, always will be. That doesn’t mean the occasional lapse, doesn’t mean he can’t be intentionally hurtful. But his base, the centre of his being, is kindness. He’s a nurturing soul, protective and self-sacrificing where Jedikiah’s nothing but _cunning_.

It’s what makes Jedikiah by far the better soldier, and John the better person. Jedikiah might be the one surviving the war, will always be on the winning side – John is the one fighting on the _right_ side, even if it kills him.

It’s Jedikiah who has to watch out for them both, always has been. Without him, John would be long dead, wouldn’t have survived his first two years at Ultra. He’ll never believe him, never accept that most of what Jedikiah’s done was actually necessary, but it’s true.

Well. It’s not like he did it for John. He did it for himself, mostly. He needed John. In so many ways. And anyway, there’s no use in reminiscing about a past you can’t change. Water under the bridge and all that.

… And then there’s the pesky fact that John wouldn’t have needed his protection if he hadn’t picked him up in the first place. Though, to be fair, that wasn’t his decision. Back then, John was just another breakout, and Jedikiah one of many agents who could have taken him in instead. It was sheer coincidence. An unhappy accident that brought them together.

Watching their lives unravel around each other must be similar to watching a car crash in slow motion. Terrifying and oddly beautiful at the same time. You just can’t _not_ look, no matter how hard you try.

“Goodbye, John,” Jedikiah says, impatient to put an end to this scene as well as his stubborn tendency to dwell on the past. He should return to what he’s actually good at – making plans and setting traps for other people to stumble through. Maybe break a leg or two. “You know where to find me.”

“I do.” John nods and then looks at him for a lingering moment. “Try not to upset too many people?”

It’s nice, John talking to him like this. Them both being on the run seems to have evened the playing field. Maybe losing his undercover status has actually helped his cause. It’s certainly helped _them_. Jedikiah smirks. “I’ll do my best.”

John nods, steps away from him and over to the table, where he collects the ring-binders, tries to distribute their weight in his arms so he won’t drop them coming out of the jump when he teleports. He looks over at Jedikiah one last time, a curious expression on his face – almost wistful. “Bye, Jed.”

Jedikiah resolutely ignores the painful tugging in his chest, as if his springs are wound too tightly – smiles at him. “Goodbye, John.”

He watches him leave, watches reality make room for him to jump through space and time – watches it folding and breaking open for this boy he loves more than anything else in his life. There’s an explosion of light and the familiar gust of air, and then John is gone, leaves Jedikiah standing alone, the shadows from the outside world finally creeping in through the window.

It’s getting late. He needs to get moving.


	5. Blame it on Gravity

The evening is quiet, the house settling around him with little creaking noises. Jedikiah’s sitting in an old armchair that came with the house, reading a book. The day was long and exhausting, has made perfectly clear why he usually prefers to work alone. Talking to people is _annoying_ , especially when the power balance is uncertain.

Maybe he shouldn’t have recruited quite so many veterans – people who broke out even before Roger and the Founder, people who are _quite_ secure in their powers and themselves and know how to blend in with the rest of mankind mostly because they consider themselves a part of it – but he’s tried working with children, and he won’t be doing that again. Ever.

So.

Egos. So many egos. All in one room, all of them convinced their way is the right one. At least they could agree on one thing – that the Founder needs to be stopped. They’re tired of seeing their species explored, tested on and killed, tolerate Jedikiah for his devious mind – direct quote – and ignore him half of the time.

He’s not used to that. It’s probably good for him.

Jedikiah closes his book and stares off into the middle distance, shrugs and stretches his shoulders before he settles back into his armchair. He feels painfully domestic, all of a sudden. Maybe because there’s a cup of tea in arms reach, and a platter with some of the cookies Melinda brought to their meeting today.

He wonders if she’ll ever stop mothering him, now that he’s convinced her of his honourable intentions – it doesn’t help that she’s still overwhelmingly apologetic for the black eye she inflicted on him when he showed up at her house in the middle of the night to recruit her.

Whatever. The cookies are good. He doesn’t complain. (Though he is a bit embarrassed that a 54-year old lady almost knocked him out. That’s probably good for him, too.)

Maybe she’d assume more of a stand-offish attitude if she new about his brother’s cold body in the basement. Maybe not. She’s a bit weird – in the best way.

Jedikiah sighs and rubs both hands across his face. The scruff scratching across his palms reminds him that he needs to shave at some point. Growing the classic fugitive beard will just look ridiculous on him. Admittedly, not the top-most of his priorities right now, but he could at least regain control a little. That’ll definitely be good for him.

But not today. It’s too late, and he’s too tired. All he’d do is cut himself. Maybe he should just go to bed.

With that intention he gets up, takes his gun off the side table and shoves it into the back of his pants. The blinds are down anyway, and he doesn’t bother to check them. He turns off the ceiling lamp, then walks out of the living room and goes up the stairs to his bedroom, doesn’t bother turning on any lights along the way. He’s memorized the layout of the house in the four days he’s been living here, knows all his emergency exits and what could serve him as an impromptu weapon in a pinch.

That’s why he loves the old fireplace down in the living room. It comes with a _poker_.

Jedikiah makes it into his bedroom without incident, thumbs open his plaid shirt (He’s blending into the neighbourhood. Hipsters, all of them.) and hangs it neatly over the back of the chair he’s placed next to the bed.

When he turns back around to take of his undershirt, there’s someone there, and he doesn’t know how they managed to get there so fast, because he could swear there wasn’t any sign of teleportation, and –

“Hey, Jed.”

Jedikiah lets go of his gun very carefully, leaves it where it’s tucked into the waistband of his jeans, and switches on the bedside lamp. “What did I tell you about sneaking up on me, kiddo?”

“That I shouldn’t?” John’s scruff can almost rival Jedikiah’s. The weak illumination of the lamp casts deep shadows over his profile, and he looks just as tired as he always does. “Hey. Again.”

Amused sarcasm takes a brief hold of him. “Yes. Sorry. Good evening, John. What can I do for you?”

Half of him fears John is back for seconds. The other half is falling into quiet desperation in case he’s not. In the four days that passed since he saw him last he’s missed the kid more than he’d care to admit.

“I have some … questions?” John says, sounding extremely hesitant, and Jedikiah’s eyebrows scrunch together in mild confusion.

“You’re not sure?”

Instead of answering, John lets his eyes flick across the room, takes in the high ceiling and hardwood floor. “Figures that your safe-house is as pompous as possible.”

Jedikiah crosses his arms in front of his chest. “So you’ve actually come here to complain about my living-situation?”

The question turns John’s eyes in his direction, and they goggle as they take in his discarded shirt. “Is that plaid?”

“It is,” Jedikiah confirms. “Are you drunk?”

“Why would I be drunk?” John asks back, swaying on his feet, and Jedikiah realizes that he isn’t drunk. He’s just very, very tired.

He uncrosses his arms, gestures towards the bed. “Sit down.”

It’s a statement about the intensity of John’s exhaustion that he obeys immediately, just flops himself down on the bed and sighs. “Now what?”

Jedikiah looks at him intently. John looks different, somehow, and it’s not only his scruff getting out of control. He looks rumpled and ragged, almost shabby. It’s like he’s entirely given up on taking care of himself. “Now you tell me what’s going on. What are you doing here?”

“I told you,” John says, a stubborn tilt to his chin. “I have questions.”

“Okay,” Jedikiah decides to humour him. “Shoot.”

There’s a brief moment of silence, highlighted by the surprise on John’s face. Seems like he expected more resistance from Jedikiah. Jedikiah doesn’t understand why. He’s been remarkably easy to persuade to do John’s bidding these last few days.

“There was this page in one of the ring-binders,” John starts, hesitates, rubs his face. He goes very still and quiet, looks frozen for a few seconds, and the worry inside Jedikiah grows accordingly. Then John’s voice comes out of him like he has to force himself to speak – far too soft, “Damn it, this is ridiculous.”

Jedikiah lifts an eyebrow, looks down on him. “I’d think so, yes,” he says, let’s the words come out slow, coated with sarcasm and just a little bit of fondness. “I thought I was extremely thorough, putting together those binders – _exhaustingly comprehensive_. Enough details to make the lazy weep in frustration. There should be no questions. None at all.” He squats down in front of John. “Why are you here, kiddo?”

Jedikiah consciously refrains from touching him, makes a deliberate effort not to reach out and steady his balance by putting his hands on John’s knees.

“To see you,” John whispers back, voice suddenly thick with tears. “Oh God, I’m going crazy.”

He’s in Jedikiah’s arms before Jedikiah gets the chance to ask him what he means by that, is kissing him with a fierce desperation not at all softened by his exhaustion. He almost topples him over, is so determined to get at him that it _hurts_.

“John,” Jedikiah gets out breathlessly, is briefly distracted by John licking at his mouth, “John, wait – just … just for a second … wait, please.”

John whines and doesn’t stop, and Jedikiah puts both hands on his chest and pushes. “I said _wait_.”

John falls back onto the bed, and when Jedikiah stands up to tower over him, he closes his eyes. “Sorry.”

Jedikiah has to fight for each breath, feels his chest rise and fall with every painful intake of air, and he doesn’t know what’s worse – that John’s crying, or that he still wants to fuck him, no matter what.

He forces his hunger down, forces the red mist out of his system, then sits on the bed, John lying on his back beside him. “You thought you needed an excuse?”

“Yes,” John whispers. The unspoken _obviously_ hangs heavy in the air between them.

Jedikiah twists to the left so he can reach out and pet his head. “You were wrong about that.”

John’s throat produces a wrecked sound. “No, I wasn’t. I can’t just _come_ to you – Not like this, not for – for –“

Jedikiah’s fingers stroke gently through his hair. “Calm down, kiddo, it’s okay …”

“It’s not!” John rolls onto his side and makes himself as small as possible.

Jedikiah thought they were through with this, but apparently not. He clears his throat. “You know what happens now? You’re going to take off your shoes, and your jeans, maybe even your shirt, and then you’ll get under the covers, okay?”

He ignores the shiver that runs through John as a result of those words. “But … but I –“

“That’s what you came here for,” he interrupts him softly, “and that’s what we’re going to do.” He lets his fingers glide through John’s unruly hair for a last but thorough caress, then he stands up. “Just give me 5 minutes in the bathroom.”

He leaves to brush his teeth, and when he comes back, John is indeed under the covers, his clothes neatly folded and on the chair next to the bed. Jedikiah adds his own clothes to the pile – jeans and undershirt, puts his gun on the bedside table – and then slips below the covers as well.

John immediately rolls over and onto his side, directs an apologetic stare at him, but he doesn’t say anything. Jedikiah leans in and brushes a kiss to his lips, gentle, hesitant. “We don’t have to do anything.”

John huffs at him. “Yeah, right. Suddenly you treat me like a skittish virgin. You remember that we already fucked?” The contrast between the harsh words and him shyly cuddling up to Jedikiah is not lost on the latter. “I thought we were going to do what I came here for?”

“You said you came to see me,” Jedikiah murmurs, unaffected by John’s empty bravado. He opens his arms for him and pulls him close to his chest. “You didn’t mention any fucking.”

John’s breath hitches, and his eyes flick over Jedikiah’s face, nervous and almost bashful. “You don’t want –“

“You look ready to drop, kiddo. Just sleep, okay?” His hands are firm on John’s naked back, gently stroke over the warm skin. “If you want to fuck come tomorrow morning, we can do that.”

John blushes and bites his lip. “Can we …” He hesitates, but not for long. “Can we at least kiss?”

It’s entirely impossible for Jedikiah to hold the teasing grin back. Everything else would just spill out if he tried – the fondness, the overwhelming need inside his chest. “We already did, darling.”

John makes an impatient noise and brings their mouths together. Jedikiah doesn’t try to stop him, kisses back instantly. John’s lips are warm and a little chapped, and he’s gentle this time, doesn’t bite or lick … just kisses. His left hand finds its way into Jedikiah’s hair, fingertips brushing over his scalp tentatively.

It’s more intimate than anything else they’ve done so far.

He can hear John breathing in the quiet of the room, regular, even breaths that mingle with his own, the house dark and still around them. Their chests are pressed together, skin against skin, unmoving.

It’s pleasant, being so close to someone without any kind of need or agenda – just because he can, because he wants to. John’s kisses make him feel steadier than he did in the four days that passed without seeing him – especially when they turn more and more sluggish, almost sloppy with exhaustion … but still don’t stop.

John’s not hard against him, doesn’t seem aroused, but he sighs when Jedikiah takes his mouth away, pushes his face forward and tries to get it back.

“We can continue this tomorrow morning as well,” Jedikiah whispers, lets his hand stroke up and down John’s back after he’s reached over to turn off the bedside lamp. “You can go to sleep now.”

“Promise?” John murmurs back, almost incomprehensible, half asleep already.

The sudden pressure on Jedikiah’s chest shouldn’t feel pleasant, probably. “I promise.”

He falls asleep with John in his arms – dares to hold him close. Because John wasn’t drunk when he came to him, not half crazy with want. All he was … was tired. He was exhausted and in need of someone to take care of him.

Jedikiah isn’t stupid.

John didn’t come to him for sex. It’s rather safe to assume that he didn’t even come for the kisses. He came to him because he’s the only one who’ll tell him to go to bed and sleep. You’d think his friends would take better care of him. Ingrates.

Jedikiah sighs, entirely uncertain of what the morning will bring, and closes his eyes.

 

The morning creeps in quietly, with sunlight filtering in through the blinds, and some persistent birds singing outside the window. John is still asleep when Jedikiah wakes up, and it seems they haven’t moved at all during the night, are still lying pressed up against each other.

Jedikiah doesn’t know if he’s allowed to indulge in physical affection while John is asleep, so he doesn’t. He merely keeps his arms around him, keeps holding him like he did the whole night through, and tries to think.

He’s a morning person, always has been, so his brain not being up to full speed yet isn’t the problem. The problem is that he’s rather certain why John came to him last night – he just doesn’t understand how he _could_ … is sure that John doesn’t understand that, either.

They both seem to be of the opinion that John is supposed to keep his distance, keep up a front of cold disdain instead of coming to Jedikiah with the vague intention of being … loved.

The real problem is that Jedikiah _does_. He loves John. He’s always loved him. But the nature of the feeling has changed, the nature of their relationship has changed, and healthy isn’t the term he’d apply to describe it. They’re going to crash and burn, sooner rather than later, and Jedikiah would prefer John to come out of that disaster more or less intact, but that’s just not possible anymore.

They’re not going to make it.

John chooses this moment to stir awake, to push his face into Jedikiah’s neck and _snuggle_ him. John isn’t a morning person – obviously – and Jedikiah can only assume that he hasn’t yet processed who he’s in bed with. He probably thinks he’s with Miss Coburn. What a delightful idea.

But then John rubs his cheek against his beard, and if that is his idea of waking up with Miss Coburn – Jedikiah stops that train of thought right there.

“Good morning,” he greets, his voice a little rough.

“G’mornin’ Jed,” John mumbles back, and turns his head just far enough to give him a kiss. “Sleep good?”

So this is what reality slipping away from you feels like. Or maybe being struck by lightning. Wait no, not that. That couldn’t possibly leave him tingling with content. Jedikiah draws a somewhat unsteady breath. “Yes, thank you.”

John hums his approval and kisses him again, and Jedikiah gently but decidedly brings some distance between them. “I fear you’re not quite awake yet, kiddo.”

“Yes – yes I am,” John insists, and when he opens his eyes, they’re a little glazed but sharpen fast enough. “Don’t ruin the moment.”

Jedikiah dry-swallows and nods, brushes a kiss to the left corner of John’s mouth. “I wouldn’t dare to.”

John slots their mouths together, hums again. “Good.”

He pushes his hips forward the same moment Jedikiah gives into the kiss, and Jedikiah couldn’t possibly misinterpret the hard line of heat pressing against his hip. He’s not entirely sure how he could miss it until now. John swallows his surprised moan, greedily licks into his mouth – but stays gentle. He’s eager but somehow shy at the same time. As if he’s not sure he’s allowed – and intent on taking all he can get without overwhelming Jedikiah into protest.

Jedikiah stops him again – just to set the record straight. “If you really want this, I’m not going to say no, John.”

John looks back at him and bites his lip. “Could I take a shower first?”

Jedikiah almost boggles at him. “A shower?”

John blushes and avoids his gaze before he looks at him through his lashes. “I feel … grimy.”

Sometimes Jedikiah actually manages to forget John’s living situation. He has to work long and hard for that, but sometimes he manages. “Then by all means – go take a shower.”

John looks vulnerable and far too young for a heartbeat or three, and then he opens his eyes wide to direct an inquiring stare at Jedikiah. “You’ll still be here when I come back?”

Jedikiah favours him with a fond smile. When John’s looking at him like that, there’s no space left inside of him to wonder and worry. “Am I allowed to leave the bed to brush my teeth?”

“Only if you promise to be real quick,” John smiles back, relaxes visibly thanks to their mild banter.

If he doesn’t go and try to make sense of all of this, Jedikiah decides, this might actually work. He gets up to show John the bathroom, and then takes his tooth brush with him to use it down in the one for guests. It might not make any sense to grant John his privacy now, after everything they’ve done, but … no. It doesn’t make any sense.

Nevertheless, Jedikiah goes downstairs.

He’s gone for maybe ten minutes, and when he returns to the bedroom, John’s already there. He’s half naked, a towel slung low on his hips, his hair wet, dropping onto his shoulders.

“Feeling better?” Jedikiah asks him, and John turns fully towards him, his smile absolutely _delighted_.

“You have no idea.”

Jedikiah probably doesn’t.

They stay like that for a moment longer than would probably be natural – Jedikiah by the door and John by the window – and then John moves forward and towards him. “You’re not going to stop me again, are you?”

“I did not stop you,” Jedikiah clarifies. “I merely delayed you a little.”

John halts in front of him, brings his arms up to put them around his neck, and this close his lashes look incredibly long. “Don’t do that again, either.”

When he kisses him this time, he’s insistent, almost forceful. He’s still John, though, cards his fingers through Jedikiah’s hair and strokes his neck, is so obviously _kind_ that it hurts. Jedikiah opens his mouth for him, puts his arms around John and closes his eyes.

Jedikiah’s going to regret this like everything else they’ve done, but that doesn’t mean he won’t do it. It doesn’t mean he won’t enjoy it, either.

John is warm and _trusting_ in his arms, his skin still damp from the shower, and the whole set-up feels so terribly normal that Jedikiah has trouble wrapping his head around it.

It felt different in John’s old foster home, felt different in the old safe-house. This house is a home. He’d intended it to be one when he bought it, always thought of it of a place to live with a partner, maybe raise children. Kissing and holding John under this roof, sleeping with him … it’s not going to destroy him, per se, but it will make him far more vulnerable than he ever was.

Trying to avoid exactly that hasn’t done him any favours on the other hand, so why not.

“Bed?” John murmurs in between kisses, and then manoeuvres them over before Jedikiah has the chance to react. Part of Jedikiah wants to tell him that they don’t have to do this – that Jedikiah will hold him and take care of him without John offering sexual favours. The rest of him is too caught up in the way John feels, the way he tastes, how he sounds when Jedikiah caresses him.

Apparently, John didn’t take advantage of his shower for a quick release. When he sits down on the bed, his towel gives up on him, falls open to reveal the hard curve of his dick, and Jedikiah has to clear his throat, before he’s able to put his thoughts into words. “How do you … want this to go?”

“Are you really asking me for directions right now?” John sounds entirely incredulous, almost disdainful, and Jedikiah’s eyebrows draw together in mild confusion.

“You’d rather I just do what I think is best?”

John bites his lip, but says it anyway, “You usually do.”

“And look where that got us,” Jedikiah snaps back. “Excuse me for asking. I won’t make that mistake again. Did you bring lube?”

John continues biting his lip, opens his eyes wide, unhappy and suspiciously wet. His voice comes out soft, apologetic. “I … I just want you to … do what you like.”

 _Why_ , Jedikiah wants to scream at him. _Why would you want that?_

He doesn’t let the words out. Instead he goes to his knees in front of John, puts both hands on his thighs. What he likes, what he really wants to do, is make John feel good. If John won’t tell him how to do that, he’s got to find out the hard way. Pun intended.

John seems to be surprised by his initiative – at least that’s what Jedikiah gets from the hasty intake of breath above him when he brings his mouth down. He closes his eyes, enjoys the warm weight on his tongue – and then John starts pulling at his hair, gently, but with intent. “Please don’t.”

Jedikiah comes back up immediately, astonishment mingling with worry, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?”

His question is met with instant relief, brings the flush back into John’s cheeks. “I … I thought you were …” Again, he bites his lip.

Jedikiah closes his hand instead of his lips around him, enjoys the flutter of surprise that elicits from John. “Angry?” he hazards.

John bites his lip a little harder, and nods. “Yeah.”

Jedikiah looks up at him for a moment – then sits back on his haunches without letting go of him. “Maybe we should talk about this?”

The fact that John doesn’t want an angry blowjob from him certainly merits a brief discussion. Naturally, John doesn’t think so.

“What good could that possibly do?” he asks him. “I know I’m supposed to hate you – to not trust you further than I can throw you. Doesn’t change a thing.”

His words hurt, but not very much. It’s nothing Jedikiah hasn’t heard before, nothing he doesn’t deserve. “And that’s why I asked you to tell me how you want it – because if you only come for the sex, then the least I can do for you is make it worth your while.” Jedikiah looks down at where his hand is still encircling John’s hard dick. “Unless you don’t really care as long as it involves _me_ in some unspeakable, heinous way.”

John’s guilty demeanour is answer enough. Jedikiah suppresses a sigh. He’s really done a number on that boy. “Okay,” he says, lets his thumb stroke up and down the underside of John’s cock. “I’ll take good care of you, kiddo.”

John shivers and his dick twitches, and Jedikiah feels as if the air’s punched out of him – but he can do this. _This_ he can do. He’s brilliant at talking himself out of dangerous situations. Dirty talk isn’t an exception. At least that’s what he hopes.

He clears his throat. “So. _Did_ you bring lube?”

He looks at John to see him nod, cheeks flushed and pupils dilated. “Yeah. It’s … it’s in my jeans pocket. The … the condoms as well.”

“Good. I hope you’re up for at least two rounds. I don’t plan on going easy on you.” With that he leans back forward and over John’s lap, and this time, John doesn’t stop him. He’s just as vocal, gives his consent just as enthusiastic as he did the last time Jedikiah went down on him, and his fingers glide through Jedikiah’s hair to a never-ending recital of “yes, yes please, Jed, please, feels so good” mingled with breathless little moans that _wreck_ Jedikiah.

This time, he doesn’t stop when he notices that John is close. He just goes deeper, goes as deep as he can until John’s cock hits the back of his throat. The resulting noise clawing its way out of John is definitely worth it. John’s release hits the back of his throat, and he swallows most of it without tasting, almost manages to hold his breath until John is spent. A few drops collect on his tongue on his way back up, and he swallows those as well, breathes in deeply through his nose.

John’s grip on him becomes persistent and then a little bit painful – fingers twisting into his hair, pulling him up – and then he kisses him. It’s sloppy and uncoordinated, John’s mouth too hot on Jedikiah’s, scorching and full of purpose. At first he tastes like toothpaste, and then, underneath, entirely like John.

What starts of hasty and frantic turns gentle in a matter of seconds. John is holding onto him with both hands, kisses him like he _needs_ it, his mouth soft and yielding. He’s licking at Jedikiah’s tongue almost shyly, moans when Jedikiah pushes it into his mouth to return the favour.

Jedikiah stays on his knees for a little while longer just to keep kissing, to keep John in this state of satisfied contentment. His own erection is tenting the front of his shorts, but he doesn’t pay it any heed. He lets his hands brush over John’s thighs, up and up, until he can span them over his hips. John lets out a little whimper and opens his mouth wider for him, and Jedikiah remembers how he put his hands on John’s ass that first night, how immediate and strong John’s reaction was.

So he moves them again.

John just came. He doesn’t want or need to rile him up again so fast.

Jedikiah gets up from his knees, lets his hands brush upwards as well, over John’s sides and his rib-cage, doesn’t break their kiss. The sounds leaving John’s throat turn anxious, as if he’s afraid Jedikiah’s going to vanish right from under his hands – as if Jedikiah’s the one able to teleport – and Jedikiah puts his own hands on John’s shoulders, lets his thumbs drag over the warm, wet skin he finds there. Then he tips John over. He’s gentle and careful, bends down with him until John is lying on his back, wet hair soaking the sheets.

They’re still kissing. John’s arms are around his neck, holding on tightly, and Jedikiah really doesn’t want to interrupt the kiss, but he has to. His back muscles are already protesting vehemently against the current position.

John whines as soon as he has enough air to do so, tightens his hold on Jedikiah and digs his fingers into his skin. Jedikiah kisses his cheek, brushes his fingers through John’s wet hair. “Don’t worry. You’ve got me.”

The immediate reaction those words elicit is a breathless laugh, entirely devoid of humour. “I do?”

He sounds so unsure of himself that Jedikiah pets his hair again, reassuring and chiding at once. “More than you know. Can we move this around a bit so I can lie down next to you?”

John looks up to him, his cheeks flushed, pupils dilated – and then he smiles. “A little help?”

Jedikiah huffs and returns the smile, before he straightens up and helps rearrange John’s limbs on the bed. John is docile under his ministrations, lets himself be pushed and pulled until his head is on the pillow and Jedikiah’s lying in front of him. Jedikiah’s gotten rid of his shorts before he got on the bed, and this might be the first time they’re actually completely naked with each other.

Not that that changes anything, or makes matters any worse. It’s wonderful, to be quite honest. John seems to think so, too, makes the effort of shifting forward until he’s plastered himself all the way along Jedikiah’s front.

It’s almost too close for comfort, but Jedikiah doesn’t complain. “Are you alright?” he asks, lets his left hand travel slowly over John’s skin, spans his fingers wide over the small of his back.

John nods and closes his eyes, pushes his face into Jedikiah’s neck and takes a deep breath. “I’m good.”

“Good,” Jedikiah echoes, and closes his eyes as well. “Do you need a moment or are you ready for more?”

John shifts against him, tries to get closer still. “I thought you didn’t plan on going easy on me?”

“Doesn’t mean I have to break you” Jedikiah murmurs, lets his fingers stroke gently over John’s warm skin. “Ten seconds ago you couldn’t move by yourself.”

John hums and kisses his shoulder. “Do your worst.”

His words draw another smile out of Jedikiah, and he lets go of John, rolls over to reach for the discarded jeans and the promised lube. He doesn’t even go very far, doesn’t move all that much, but John still moves with him, reaches around to snake his arm over his stomach and crowds him from behind.

“Or we could do that,” Jedikiah says, relatively certain that the grin is audible in his voice.

John kisses his shoulder again – the right one this time. “Do what?”

He sounds as if he really hasn’t got a clue what Jedikiah’s getting at, so maybe Jedikiah shouldn’t bring up the topic of who’s topping whom right now. Maybe it’s better if he just rolls back around and gets going.

“Cuddle,” he fibs, and puts his hand over John’s, strokes his thumb over the back of John’s wrist. “You seem to like that.”

John takes his hand in his and pulls him back around. “Later?”

Jedikiah kisses him. “Definitely.” He pauses, draws his brows together. “You made me forget the lube.”

He rolls over again with John laughing quietly behind him. “Shut up. I’m an old man.”

“No,” John giggles, “no, you’re really not.” He moves with him again, puts his arm around him and slots his hips right up to Jedikiah’s ass, playfully bites at his shoulder – and stills. “Oh. _That’s_ what you meant.”

Jedikiah stills as well, lube finally in hand, and closes his eyes. “Yes.” His voice sounds like honey over gravel. “That’s what I meant.” John’s fingers dig into the soft skin over his stomach, and Jedikiah doesn’t know whether it’s out of fear or arousal. “Bad idea?”

“I … don’t know,” John murmurs, his breath warm and moist against Jedikiah’s neck. “I’ve never even considered it.”

“Well. You can. If you want. Just putting it out there.” He gently moves out from under John’s arm to turn back to him, get a look at his face. John’s blushing. It would be ridiculous if it wasn’t so terribly charming. “Just if you want to, John. Okay?”

John nods and looks at him through his lashes. His pupils are blown wider than before, and he bites his lip. “Yeah, okay.”

Jedikiah brushes a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Stay like this, okay? Just hook your leg over mine.”

John blinks at him. “Wouldn’t it be easier, if I –“

“Yes,” Jedikiah interrupts him, “but I really need to see your face while I do this.”

John actually looks _confused_ , and Jedikiah decides that there’s a limit to what he is prepared to take. “I need to make sure that I’m taking care of you just right, John. I want to see your face while I’m opening you up.”

The resulting blush is _vicious_ , and just what Jedikiah intended. John is delicious when he turns shy, when it almost feels like he’s never done _anything_ even resembling a sexual act. Strangely enough, it doesn’t make Jedikiah want him more – it just makes him feel protective and _helpless_. Because he sure as hell can’t protect John, and if he could, he’d protect him from himself.

“O-okay.” John spreads his legs, visibly flustered, and Jedikiah helps him, moves them until they’re both comfortable. He smiles, utters one of the old lies, worn with use – but somehow working better than it ever did before, in this new, delightful context, “Relax, kiddo. I’ve got you.”


	6. Blame it on Anything You Like

John relaxes, slowly but surely. Jedikiah can see it on his face, watches the blush recede, and spots the suggestion of a smile hiding in the corners of his mouth. He can feel it in John’s heartbeat, steadying against his chest, and is glad for the way he’s arranged both of their bodies, is glad John trusts him enough that he let him.

Jedikiah’s still hard, his erection trapped between them. He doesn’t plan on doing anything about that.

This is about John. About giving him what he wants. Jedikiah studies his face for a moment longer, and then lifts his hand to make another grab at the lube. John takes a deep breath – and takes Jedikiah’s hand, stops its movement and intertwines their fingers. “What … what you said earlier …”

Jedikiah looks at him expectantly, doesn’t try to get loose, despite his surprise at being interrupted. But nothing’s forthcoming for a minute or two, so he smiles tentatively and gently strokes the back of John’s hand with his fingertips. “You’ll need to be a little more specific, darling.”

John stares at him as if he’s trying to get inside his head – but Jedikiah knows how that feels, and John is not reading his mind, isn’t even making the attempt. The fixed stare would be disconcerting if it wasn’t so vulnerable and open.

“What did I say?” Jedikiah tries again.

“You …” John hesitates and licks his lips, “you said I only came to you for the sex.” He pauses again, and his eyes turn desperate and pleading, a liquid blue that begs Jedikiah to believe and understand him. “I … I don’t. I come … for you.”

A brick to the stomach couldn’t have more of an impact. For a few precious seconds Jedikiah doesn’t even know _what_ he feels, and then he’s brimming over with affection, the old certainty that he’d never allow this kid to come to harm. Not under his watch.

He clears his throat, tries to ignore the wetness in his eyes, the weight over his chest that’s trapping his heart. “Well. I guess if you wanted any middle-aged guy to share your bed you could have your pick.” He dry-swallows. “I’m … I’m glad it’s me.”

John blinks, and the liquid in his eyes turns to tears, wets his lashes. “You are?”

“Of course I am,” Jedikiah assures him. Because as long as John is in his life, he doesn’t care about the how or why. All that matters is that he’s still got him, even if it’s like this. For them, there’ll never be a relationship even _resembling_ normal; what they have, what they’re doing with and to each other will never be psychologically healthy – at least not on paper. He’s slowly coming to accept that fact. If he wants John around – and he does – he needs to stop pretending that _this_ isn’t how it is, and how it’s going to stay.

John blinks again, spills a few tears, and then leans in to kiss him. Jedikiah wants to tell him that he loves him and doesn’t. Because as much as John’s come to … accept him over the course of the last week, he might never be ready to hear those words from him.

And that’s okay. Somehow. It has to be.

“I’m ready,” John whispers against his lips, and Jedikiah’s heart misses a beat until he realizes what John’s really saying. That John wants him to finally use the damn lube. But no matter what John might be saying, Jedikiah can hear that he’s still crying.

“Are you sure?” he asks – because he isn’t, he’ll probably never be, and John’s insistence is all he has.

“Absolutely.” John’s breath is warm against his face, his voice just slightly hoarse with tears. “I want to feel you, Jed. Feel you inside me.”

It wouldn’t be half as bad if John were at least purposely _trying_ to drive Jedikiah insane. He isn’t though. Not at all. So Jedikiah closes his eyes hard, and keeps them shut until he can be sure they’re dry – until he’s certain he’s got his voice under control. Only then does he allow himself to speak. “Then I better prepare you for that, don’t I?”

John nods, drags his lips over Jedikiah’s cheek. “Yeah, you better do that.” He lets go of Jedikiah’s hand, watches him reach for the lube. His eyes are still wet, tears still clinging to his lashes. But when he watches Jedikiah open that bottle, when he hears the snap of the lid and sees him coating his fingers, they glaze over. “I … I really liked it … the first time.”

The bottle drops to the bed, and Jedikiah takes a deep breath. “I hoped you would.” He moves his hand behind John, down and towards his ass, and John closes his eyes again.

“Did you hope I would come back for more? Is that why you made it feel … feel so good?”

Jedikiah has to fight to keep his hand from shaking. “You … you wanted it. That’s why I tried to … to make it feel as good as possible.” He touches his fingertips to John’s entrance, gently pushes in with his index-finger.

John takes a hasty breath, and his hips quiver. “And … if I asked you to hurt me?” Jedikiah freezes. He stares, watches John open his eyes and study him. “If I wanted that, would you do it?”

“Please,” Jedikiah whispers, “please don’t ask me to do that.”

He doesn’t realise he’s started to pull back until John’s hand closes around his wrist and keeps him in place. “I’m not. Jed, I’m not asking you to do that. I’m sorry …” He presses his mouth to Jedikiah’s, pushes his hips forward – does everything he can to offer physical comfort. “I was just … was just thinking aloud. It was stupid of me. I’m so sorry.” He’s cupping Jedikiah’s cheek, lets his thumb brush over his temple, back and forth, again and again. “I like it so much better when you’re making me feel good.”

Getting a grip on himself is difficult, especially with John so close. Jedikiah’s whole body is confused about what to do, how to react to the different impulses it’s receiving. He sees John swallow, watches the hesitation glide over his face, and then he kisses him again, soft and full of apology. “You’re the only one, Jed. The only one who’s ever touched me like this.”

Jedikiah returns the kiss and pushes his finger deeper into John, lets John’s words wash over him like the tide. Because as long as John doesn’t ask Jedikiah to hurt him, he’ll be fine. He’ll be just fine.

John moans and his lashes flutter shut, but he doesn’t stop to whisper quiet encouragement, breathless and eager. “Yeah … Jed, that’s … that’s good, that’s so good … I – I want it deeper – can you … can you go deeper?”

Jedikiah can and he does, pushes his finger in to the first knuckle and then the second, crooks and twists it inside John’s tight heat, until John keens and twitches against him. “There?” Jedikiah asks, tries to find that spot again, the one that’s already making John moan like –

“Yeah,” John confirms, and Jedikiah feels him getting hard again. “Right … right there.”

John’s voice, when he gets like this – when he’s horny and starting to lose control … Jedikiah doesn’t think he’ll ever get enough of it. He rubs over John’s prostrate again and again, watches the expressions chase each other over his face – lust and a hunger so wanton it’s actually beautiful to behold.

“More,” John eventually demands, “Jed, please, you – you have to give me more.”

“More,” Jedikiah echoes, pulls his finger out of John to add a second, gently, slowly. “Like this?”

“Yes!” John groans as soon as he feels the stretch, “yes, please – please don’t stop.”

“I won’t,” Jedikiah promises, pushes in deeper and studies John face intently while the first set of knuckles breaches him, twists his wrist. “I won’t stop. Want to make you feel good again – just like the last time.”

John’s body’s twitching against him, hot and desperate to be touched, and Jedikiah automatically presses his fingers deeper into him, stretches him wider.

“Just – just like the last time,” John repeats, his voice so thick with lust he almost doesn’t sound like himself any more. “Jed … I – I feel so full already.” He almost whines the words, pushes his hips back and forth, rubs his hardening cock against Jedikiah’s.

“That’s good, isn’t it?” Jedikiah whispers back. “You like that, don’t you, kiddo?” He finds John’s prostrate again, pushes down on it with both fingers, and John nods frantically, the moan breaking out of his throat sounding like a sob.

“Yes! Yes, I like it – like it so much!” John’s breath hitches when Jedikiah scissors his fingers inside him, and his eyes briefly roll back into his head. When he looks at Jedikiah again, they’re all pupil, glazed over and feverish. “Feels so good when you’re filling me up.”

Jedikiah groans and pushes his fingers in a little bit harder than intended. It results in John moaning his name, unrestrained and decidedly pleased. “Like – like that! Do it again like that – please, Jed!”

Hearing John beg doesn’t really leave Jedikiah with any other option but to thrust his fingers into him again and again, until John is almost sobbing against his chest, leaving smears of precome on his abdomen with every other twist of his hips.

He can feel John gradually loosening around his fingers, can feel the muscles relax until they take him in almost greedily. It’s intoxicating how they welcome him in, to feel them stretch around his fingers when he’s pushing in – only to have them contract when he’s pulling out again.

“I bet I can make you come like this,” he whispers. “Make you come from just my fingers inside you …”

John sobs again and nods, then he licks his lips. “Y-yeah … you could.”

The admission alone almost does it for Jedikiah. He feels dizzy with want, needs to be as close to John as he possibly can, even if it destroys him. “Do you … do you want that?”

When John looks at him, there’s no trace of doubt or worry on his face. Just unmitigated pleasure. “But what about you?”

It’s so typical that John would think of someone else first – never his own pleasure. It only makes Jedikiah want to spoil him all the more, to focus all of his attention on John until he begs him to stop – until he can’t take any more.

Jedikiah smiles at John, lets his emotions bleed through, lets them clearly show in his eyes and voice. “What about me, kiddo?” He twists his fingers for emphasis, rubs them against John’s prostrate with almost comfortable aim. “If you’re so dead set on having my dick inside you, we can always do that afterwards, you know? We can do that all day.”

John almost chokes on his next breath, squeezes his eyes shut and comes all over Jedikiah’s belly and chest. Jedikiah didn’t expect it – not quite so soon – and he almost follows John over the edge. John is clinging to him with both hands, apparently just as surprised as Jedikiah is about his sudden orgasm. He keeps whimpering Jedikiah’s name, over and over again, keeps pushing his hips forward until he’s too sensitive. Then he lies completely still, Jedikiah’s fingers still in his ass, flexing around them, trying to get his breath back.

He whines when Jedikiah pulls out, and Jedikiah softly shushes him, kisses his temple. “It’s alright, kiddo. I’ll fill you right back up if you want to.”

“Want,” John replies immediately, sounding fucked-out and sluggish, still breathing too fast, “want to, please …”

The sheer need in his voice sends a tingling wave of heat right down Jedikiah’s spine, and he reaches down to circle his fingers around the base of his cock.

“Feels so good having you inside,” John continues, seemingly unaware of the effect his words are having – maybe even unaware that he’s saying them out loud. “Feels so good when you’re stretching me open.”

Jedikiah makes a noise that almost sounds like a growl, has to force it out from between clenched teeth. He feels light-headed and dangerously close to losing control over himself – and then John kisses him. The touch of his lips is soft; John is too far gone for anything resembling technique or method. He’s almost clumsy in showing Jedikiah his affection, but once Jedikiah starts kissing him back, he sighs happily, welcomes Jedikiah’s tongue with sweet enthusiasm.

“Jed,” he murmurs in between kisses, the trust and affection so thick in his voice, it makes Jedikiah shiver, “you said you’d fill me back up.”

Jedikiah rolls him over without argument. “Then spread your legs for me, darling.”

John does so without any sign of self-awareness or shame, looks up at Jedikiah from below his lashes, eyes content and happy. “Like this?”

He’s spread out on the sheets, sweaty and flushed, his hair standing up in tufts, his chest rising and falling under regular, somewhat laboured breaths. His whole body seems to glow with satisfaction, and Jedikiah knows he doesn’t deserve him – and cherishes him all the more.

“Perfect,” he whispers, voice hoarse and over-full of emotion, “you’re perfect.” He pushes a cushion under John’s back and grabs a condom before he moves to kneel between John’s spread legs. “Are you comfortable?”

John hums his assent, eyes half-closed and dark with lust. He pulls his knees up to his chest, holds himself open for Jedikiah to take despite his obvious exhaustion. Even if it weren’t for his own desire, Jedikiah would have moved forward and against him immediately, would have put his hands on him to take the weight of his legs just as fast.

He pushes John’s legs up even further, almost folds him in half, lets John’s right leg rest in the crook of his left elbow. He drops the condom in the process … should probably have put it on before arranging John to his satisfaction.

John, who’s watching him from below half-closed lids, stops him with a husky “Leave it,” when he makes a move to get it back. “I want to feel you – feel everything.”

Jedikiah freezes in his movements, can’t contain the astonishment he’s feeling. “You’re … sure?”

John licks his lips and nods. “Yes. I – I’m clean, I promise.”

Jedikiah’s breath catches – not in his throat, but deep in his chest. Heat is spiralling down his spine, and he feels too hot, feels that he’s losing control again. His ribcage is too small for his heart, ever constricting, keeping it trapped, and he wishes he could _tell_ John how he’s making him feel, wishes he could find the words.

“I want you to, Jed. Please,” John whispers, and now his eyes are completely open, no longer half hidden behind his lashes. “I want you to.”

He sounds not only certain but _pleading_ , and Jedikiah doesn’t have it in him to refuse John what he seems to desire so desperately. “Anything,” he promises, and doesn’t recognize his own voice, “anything you want.”

John smiles at him, soft and grateful.

It would break Jedikiah if he weren’t already broken.

His hands do not shake when he holds John a little tighter and lines himself up. Because John is still smiling, is looking at him with something that could be adoration, and if Jedikiah allowed the tiniest tremor to escape, he’d never stop, shake apart right at the seams.

Pushing in feels almost too good; John is still wet and loose from before, arching his back and moaning, and Jedikiah has to close his eyes for a heartbeat or two, can’t look at him, feels too much. He slowly moves forward until he’s all the way in, his balls resting against John’s ass, and then he remembers that he needs to see John’s face – needs to watch over and protect him.

“You okay?” he asks, even before his eyes are fully open, and John gratifies him with a small nod, face lax in satisfaction. Jedikiah’s probably never seen him so peaceful and happy … so stunningly vulnerable.

“Yeah, I’m good,” John sighs, licks his lips, “lovin’ it.”

If Jedikiah had ever allowed himself to think about it, he’d never pegged John for being talkative in bed. He would have thought John would be shy, quiet … generous but passive. This … the constant stream of words, the enthusiastic consent he’s receiving … it’s almost equally intoxicating as being inside him. “Good,” he forces out, tries to smile back at John, when he really has no idea what his face is doing.

John’s lying under him, relaxed and open despite his somewhat athletic position, and for a few seconds, Jedikiah doesn’t move. He stays right where he is, tries not to come, tries to get used to being so deep inside John without any barrier between them. After a while, John gets restless, starts to squirm and tighten around him, and Jedikiah puts his right hand on his hip and steadies him. “Still okay?”

John’s gaze when it meets his own is feverish. “So full,” he whispers, voice husky. “I … I feel so full.”

It’s more or less out of self-defence that Jedikiah starts to move. He probably won’t last long – doesn’t have to, either. John’s cock is still soft, even if the look on his face says he’d be hard enough to pound nails if he hadn’t come twice already. Getting him off a third time isn’t even the goal.

The goal is wearing him out enough so he won’t try to leave the bed until he’s rested. The goal is to keep him safe and warm for at least one day – maybe get some food into him should the occasion arise. Jedikiah’s own climax is nothing but a bonus.

“Jed,” John whimpers once Jedikiah has established a slow, thorough rhythm that will keep him going long enough to eradicate what is left of John’s stamina. Already the kid is panting – deep, careful breaths, made all the more difficult by his pose. He doesn’t try to meet Jedikiah’s thrusts, is now indeed passive, too wrung out – too _fucked-out_ to push back. All he does is put his hands over Jedikiah’s, cover them and hold on to them with his own.

Jedikiah can’t imagine how it must feel – being this aroused without the prospect of release, over-sensitive and _tender_.

“You like this?” he asks, more concerned than anything else, and John nods. _Emphatically_.

“Feeling you all the way inside,” he moans, voice almost gone by now. His hands squeeze Jedikiah’s, pull him closer until they’re almost kissing. “You like it, too?”

There’s so much _innocence_ behind the words, Jedikiah can’t even begin to try and make John understand. “Yes, kiddo, of course I do!”

The use of that particular endearment in these precise circumstances has John gasp and moan even louder than before, and maybe Jedikiah is imagining things, but he could swear that it almost got John hard again. So he keeps talking. “Of course I do, love the feeling of you around me – so tight and hot – have never felt anything like it.”

John stares at him, mouth slack and eyes almost black, only a sliver of blue iris remaining – and Jedikiah stares right back, can’t look away.

“I love to have you in my bed, darling – love every second of it – having you under my hands, to do with as I please …” John keens, the sound of a wounded animal escapes his throat, and Jedikiah can’t decide if he’s on his way to heaven or hell right now, feels torn right in the middle. “I can’t believe that I get to have this … that I get to see you like this, the expression on your face when you come for me …”

John’s moans turn to sobs, and suddenly he’s moving his hips, is pushing back against Jedikiah’s thrusts. Jedikiah gasps and lets his head hang low, allows himself to close his eyes, if only for a moment. He’s so close to coming he can taste at the back of his throat, can feel it at the base of his spine, burning him alive. Almost, he tells John that he loves him – but only almost.

Instead, he kisses him. A quick brush of lips, gentle and decidedly careful. John whimpers and tries to move faster – and Jedikiah stops moving altogether. “What are you trying to do to me, kiddo?”

“I want more,” John answers – a breathy whisper that has the hair at Jedikiah’s nape standing up. “Want you … want you to fuck me harder.”

It actually makes Jedikiah smile. “No, darling. I fear that’s entirely impossible.” His refusal makes John whimper again, needy and desperate, and Jedikiah smiles wider. “I’m going to keep fucking you exactly like this – slow, with just enough friction for us both to go insane. You liked the idea of having my cock inside you all day, didn’t you, kiddo?”

John just nods, honest and maybe even a little bit scared. Jedikiah kisses him again. “I’ll take such good care of you, I promise.”

“I know,” John moans, rolls his head back and bares his neck to Jedikiah, “oh God, I know.”

The easy acceptance in his voice makes Jedikiah lean over him again to kiss the offered expanse of skin. He lets John’s leg slip off his arm, caresses him with both hands, lets them glide over sweaty hot skin, up and down, again and again. John whines and tightens around him, and Jedikiah can feel him twitch against his abdomen. “You want to get hard again, kiddo?”

“Can’t,” John sobs. “F-feels so good, but I can’t.”

Jedikiah hums and opens his mouth to lick over John’s pulse, to drag his teeth over it and feel it pulsing under his lips. Johns arms close around his neck, hold on to him with a shaken strength belied by his exhausted demeanour.

It’s nearly impossible to move in this position, and all Jedikiah manages are shallow little thrusts that rock the bed nevertheless. It feels as if John is all around him, bracketing him with arms and legs, enveloping him with his heat. There’s not enough air in the whole world to fill the sudden need for it inside his chest.

He’s close, but never close enough, rides the edge of the wave for so long it blurs his vision. His hands are still all over John, exploring and caressing his body, and John is doing the same to him, lets his own hands glide over his back and shoulders, feather-light touches that make him shiver.

“Jed,” he finally hears him whisper, urgent and pleading, “Jed …”

“What is it, kiddo?” he whispers back, turns his head to look at John again. He receives a kiss, and then another one, warm and sweet, almost chaste, and he gives them back instantly, wouldn’t dare keeping them for himself. John’s lips part, and he brushes his tongue against Jedikiah’s. Suddenly they’re kissing in earnest, unhurried and languid, and Jedikiah feels John harden against him, finally, for the third time today.

The realisation almost pushes him over the edge, and he stills, pants against John’s open mouth, squeezes his eyes shut tight. John is trembling against him, almost overcome by his body’s behaviour, and Jedikiah straightens to look at him – to make sure he is okay.

And it seems that he is, although his whole face is flushed, and his eyes proclaim him to be running a fever.

“Look at you,” Jedikiah muses, more or less to himself, “and you said you couldn’t.”

John licks his lips and looks down at himself, looks at his hardening cock, curving towards his belly. When he directs his gaze at Jedikiah afterwards, he looks young and overwhelmed, as if he’s not entirely certain what’s happening to him, and Jedikiah’s heart stutters in his chest. “Are you okay, kiddo?”

John’s head is resting on the white pillow, his hair a complete mess, and his eyes sit open wide and strangely conscious in his face, regard Jedikiah as if he’s the only thing of importance in the whole world. “You did that to me,” he says. His voice is terribly soft, but his words are perfectly clear. “You … you always do that to me.”

It’s not an accusation, not really … sounds more like a confession, and Jedikiah feels weak, helpless compassion shaking him down to his core. “I … I never meant to. I never thought we’d –“

“It’s okay,” John interrupts him, a sudden smile lighting up his whole face, impish and fond. “It really is, Jed, I promise. I … aah … I wouldn’t be this turned on if it wasn’t.”

It might not be entirely true, might be their biggest deception yet, but Jedikiah chooses to believe him anyway. His hips start to move again all by themselves, slow and careful. He has to strain against his desire to just _take_ , to fuck into John as hard and fast as his body wants him to. Because the rest of him prefers it like this – prefers to be gentle to the point of smothering, to give John what he needs instead of what he thinks he wants.

John didn’t come to him to be fucked. He came to be loved.

So Jedikiah loves him, uses nothing but his body to express the sentiment, uses his hands and his mouth, caresses and kisses John, and pushes into him, again and again. At some point he’s closed his eyes, no longer able to look at John and watch what he’s doing to him.

He can still see it in his minds eye, though, lets himself fall while John’s face is so clear in front of him, while the picture of his arousal burns itself onto Jedikiah’s closed lids. It feels like drowning when he comes, his lungs gasping for air, his whole body under pressure, wrecked by tremors. It feels a little bit like dying, too – because for just a few seconds, he doesn’t have to keep himself together, doesn’t have to fight for anything. He just falls.

But instead of ending his existence with an impact that finishes him once and for all he floats up again, is conscious of his release deep inside of John, of John tightening and flexing around him, coming for a third time with a low whine that sounds almost painful.

He opens his eyes to look at him again, watches his face through the little specks of gold still obstructing his vision – firework-like sparks settling in John’s hair. John is looking back at him, eyes half lidded and drunk with pleasure, and he lifts his hands to touch Jedikiah’s face, to brush his fingertips across his lips. “Jed …”

Jedikiah’s mouth pulls into a smile, fond and _weak_ with love, and he kisses those fingertips before they move to the side and ghost across his cheek. “Still here,” he confirms.

The answering smile crinkles John’s eyes, and Jedikiah leans down and over him, presses a kiss to his lips. “You still in one piece?”

“Barely,” John whispers back, his breath warm against Jedikiah’s skin.

“I’m going to pull out now,” Jedikiah warns him, and moves before John can protest. He pulls back slowly but steadily, feels his release follow him out, and consciously refrains from looking down to where it must leak out of John. Instead he keeps looking at John to make sure he doesn’t hurt him.

All John’s face betrays is a certain uneasiness at being empty after being full for so long, but he keeps smiling through it, and Jedikiah is satisfied, smiles back and sits up on his haunches while John slowly and carefully stretches out on the bed. He moves to John’s side, pulls the cushion out from under him now it isn’t needed anymore, and lies down, pulls John into his arms. “I’ll clean you up in a minute.”

“No rush,” John murmurs against his chest, sleepy and satisfied. “This is nice.”

Jedikiah waits for him to fall asleep before he leaves the bed.


	7. But you Cannot Blame Gravity for Falling in Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy. Did I not like the season finale. This leaves me no option but to continue disregarding canon in favour of my own ideas. So if you find anything you remember differently from the show: I've done that on purpose. I almost always do.
> 
> Just a quick reminder: In my story, Roger is still in the fridge, Hillary is very much alive, and Jed never had super-powers. And that's just the way I like it.

John mumbles a few drowsy words of satisfaction when Jedikiah comes back to him with a warm washcloth to wipe him down. He allows Jedikiah to turn him this way and that, spreads out willingly on the bed, even lifts his ass a little, but never fully wakes up.

Jedikiah gently rolls him on his side and pulls the comforter over him once he’s finished, then leaves the room for a quick wash before he returns once more. He feels exhausted, but doesn’t think he’ll be able to sleep. Nevertheless, he gets into bed with John, stretches out next to him under the blanket, and closes his eyes, enjoys the closeness.

It doesn’t take long until John moves even closer and into his space, cuddles up to him with an unintelligible murmur, scrunching up his nose contentedly – something Jedikiah’s privileged to see because he re-opened his eyes reflexively when John more or less hit him in the stomach with a flailing arm.

Jedikiah can’t stop himself from reaching out and combing his fingers through John’s hair. But all he manages are a few millimetres before the tangled mess effectively stops his movement and he’s stuck, his fingers brushing against John’s scalp.

“Rampant hedgehog,” he murmurs, and closes his eyes for a few seconds.

When he re-opens them once more, John is looking back at him, very much awake, expression soft and a little bit confused. It seems Jedikiah’s been tired enough to fall asleep after all. “How long have you been awake?” he asks with a tiny yawn, and John instead of giving an answer, just blinks at him.

“John?” Jedikiah rubs his hand over his face and stares back, notices how they’re positioned with him on the bottom, and John almost all the way on top of him, using his body as a pillow.

“I’m fine,” John says, although that’s not what Jedikiah asked, and Jedikiah smiles at him, moves his hand from his face to John’s, cups his cheek.

“Good.”

“I feel really good,” John continues unprompted. “… Normal.”

“Even better,” Jedikiah comments. Clears his throat. “I’m glad.”

“I’m confused,” John admits, and Jedikiah leans in and brushes a kiss to his mouth, lets his thumb brush over John’s cheekbone.

“So am I,” he whispers, “but I’ve decided not to let that stop me – and it seems that you’ve done the same … quite a while ago, even.”

John sighs and closes his eyes, gives the kiss back. “I have _decided_ nothing of the sort. There was no decision. I just … let it happen.”

Jedikiah just hums quietly instead of voicing his dissent – doesn’t say that they’re not rudderless boats floating on a stream and destined to collide at some point, but that John _came_ to him, that he actively sought him out.

He moves his left hand from where it’s still resting on the small of John’s back, moves it upwards over John’s sleep-warm skin. John sighs again and lets him, rests his cheek on Jedikiah’s chest, makes Jedikiah move his other hand to the top of his head. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt quite like this.”

“All fucked-out?” Jedikiah guesses, and receives a slap to the hip for his trouble.

“It’s a factor,” John admits, “but I don’t think that’s all there is to it.”

Jedikiah rolls them to the side, pulls John close and revels in the feeling. “I hope it isn’t.”

If he’d let himself think about it, he’d probably be revolted by how open he’s with John, how much he lets slip. As it is, he doesn’t care … but John … John is quite a different matter.

“You are _so weird_ in bed.” The words come out with enough force that Jedikiah’s almost certain John tried holding on to them, and in the end just couldn’t. “Do you have any idea how weird you are being? Because you are.”

Jedikiah lifts his brows. “I assume the word you’re looking for is ‘unexpected’.”

“No.” John lifts his head and grins at him. “I really do mean weird.”

Jedikiah lifts his hand to cup his cheek, to feel the grin stretch out under his palm. “I don’t mind being weird, then.”

John’s lashes flutter shut and he pushes into the touch, relaxed and vulnerable. Jedikiah will probably never get over just how touch-starved that boy is, how desperate for affection and love.

If left to his own devices, John would shower a partner in affection, would drown them like he wants to be drowned; there’d be too many kisses to count, conscious and unconscious touches, whispered promises of heartfelt devotion – if left to his own devices, John would give everything of himself away, would hold nothing back, keep nothing safe. Neither his heart nor his body.

Jedikiah’s never been like that. He’s always too self-conscious, feels like a spectator of his own life far too often. Even now he’s analysing, and although it would be nice to spend the whole day in bed, it’s not the advisable thing to do. They need sustenance.

He kisses the tip of John’s nose. “Do you want to stay in bed while I make breakfast?”

Hopefully, it’s the question and not the kiss that makes John’s face fall. “I should leave. The others will worry.”

Jedikiah’s brows draw together, form a stern line of discontent. He’s neither surprised nor hurt that John doesn’t inform his friends of where he vanishes to, but surely at least one of them must have taken note of it by now – of the fact that he disappears as well as that he always returns unharmed. “Will they?” He brushes his thumb over John’s temple, back and forth, watches with rapt fascination how the caress smoothes the worry-lines from John’s forehead. “Then call them. Tell them you’re fine. And let me make breakfast.”

Maybe he should _talk_ to John about this. Ask him what Cara thinks where he’s always disappearing to – why he returns to her significantly less touch-starved and with a gleam in his eyes that should be telling enough. He wonders if John’s still sleeping with her, too. If Jedikiah is his dirty little secret in more than one way.

He doesn’t really want to talk, though. Not about Miss Coburn, at least. He doesn’t really want to know. He also doesn’t want to force John into explaining himself, doesn’t want to make him uncomfortable.

This house should be a safe haven for John. A place where he can escape to, be out of harm's way, whole and comfortable. Jedikiah doesn’t want to be the one to spoil that, even if he probably should.

“Do you want to?” he asks, tentative and anxiously neutral. “Do you want to stay and have breakfast?”

“Yeah,” John says, his voice quiet and pleased. “Yeah, I want that. Let me call the others.” He turns his head to kiss the palm of Jedikiah’s hand, does it with a calm implicitness that twists Jedikiah’s stomach up in knots. “I’ll take a quick shower, too, if I may.”

Jedikiah has to clear his throat before he can answer. “Of course. Just join me in the kitchen whenever you’re ready.”

“I will,” John promises, kisses his palm again. “I won’t be long.”

Jedikiah very reluctantly gets out of bed and dresses, and leaves the room to let John make his call in private.

 

When John joins him in the kitchen, wearing his jeans and only his jeans, Jedikiah has the table covered in bread and a few choice spreads, sliced fruit, and is in the process of frying bacon and eggs.

“You don’t think you’re being a tad lavish?” John asks, peeking over his shoulder, and Jedikiah huffs.

“I’ve seen you eat.”

John kisses his shoulder, aims his lips at the naked skin next to the white undershirt Jedikiah’s wearing. “I was a growing boy then.”

“And now you’re a half-starved young man,” Jedikiah counters. “Just let me cook in peace, will you?”

He feels John’s mouth twist into a smile at his shoulder – feels the playful scrape of teeth against his skin a second later. It doesn’t turn him on. It makes him turn his head and kiss the part of John closest to him … which happens to be his ear. “You’re horrible.”

“You love it.” John’s smile comes to a stuttering, hesitant halt once he realises what he’s said, and he looks up at Jedikiah, insecurity written all over his face.

“You’re right,” Jedikiah confirms gently. “I do.”

For a split second, John doesn’t seem to believe him, then he smiles again, lifts his face to be kissed. “I knew it.”

“You better,” Jedikiah teases, gives the kiss demanded from him, and then two extra ones just in case. “I’m being blatantly obvious here.”

John puts his arms around him from behind, hooks his chin over Jedikiah’s shoulder, and quietly watches him cook. It’s horribly domestic, unbelievably peaceful – to the point that Jedikiah would question his senses and reality if it weren’t for the fact that he knows how to tell a planted vision from reality. Morgan taught him.

She taught him a lot, to be quite honest. She deserved better. Better than him. Better than he had to offer her.

“You’re sad,” John murmurs next to his ear. “Is everything okay?”

Jedikiah pulls himself together and straightens, pulls the pan off the stove. John deserves better, too – but he’s here and Morgan is not, and even if he can never be enough, for John at least Jedikiah can be better than he was for Morgan. “I’m good. Just reminiscing. Let’s eat.”

“Yeah,” John agrees. “Let’s.”

Jedikiah distributes bacon and eggs onto two plates and they move to the table, sit down opposite each other and start to eat. The table stands in the middle of the room, a sturdy thing made of oak with matching chairs; the sun comes in through a big window, brightens up the white kitchen fronts. It doesn’t take long for John to clear his plate and start in on the bread and fruit, and Jedikiah very generously refrains from commenting on it. Instead, he quietly finishes his own breakfast, and draws quite a bit of satisfaction from watching John eat.

“This place is really nice,” John comments between two bites, cheeks stuffed full of bread. He looks like a hamster. “Is it yours?”

“It is,” Jedikiah confirms, struggling to keep a straight face. “Bought it years ago. Wanted to start a family here.”

It feels safe, telling John. Because John knows him, has known him for so long, and he won’t judge Jedikiah for it, won’t point out to him how disastrous it might have been if he had fulfilled his wish.

John does nothing of the sort. John looks at him for a long moment, chews and swallows. “You can still do that.”

The very idea hurts. Jedikiah will never _start_ a family – because he already has one. He has Roger and Marla and their kids, has Morgan and the baby … he has John. And because he’s already failed them, because he, to put it very simply _fucked up_ , he doesn’t deserve a fresh start. Family isn’t something you plan. It’s not something you can just erase and do-over until you get it right … no matter how insistently the scientific part of you might try to convince you that you can.

Jedikiah’s answering smile feels like an alien thing on his face. “No,” he says, simple and curt. “How is Morgan, by the way?”

John almost flinches, but otherwise doesn’t betray his discomfort. “She’s left. Told me she’d come back once … once it would be safe for her and the baby to do so. She – she said to tell you not to blame yourself.”

Jedikiah’s glad he’s sitting because he doesn’t feel his legs anymore. “She cannot possibly have said that. I attacked her.”

He’ll never forget the look on her face when he had his hands around her throat. He’ll never understand why she didn’t just threw him off, used her powers and ended him right then and there. She could have. Could have thrown him against the wall, break his neck by accident. He’s almost certain she should have.

John, very much unaware of what is going on in Jedikiah’s head, shrugs his shoulders. “Yeah … well. She said it.” He continues eating while Jedikiah cradles a cup of coffee between his hands, no longer lost in thought, but instead losing himself gazing at the young man sitting opposite him, golden and unreal in the light streaming in through the kitchen window. “And she knew you – knew what she was doing, what she was getting into with you. At least that’s what she told me.”

Jedikiah nods, his eyes drinking up John’s earnest expression, the little crease between his brows. If he ever wants to meet and get to know his child, it seems he has to fix the world first. As if he needed another incentive.

He holds his breath for a few seconds, then lets it out very, very slowly.

“What?” John asks, tilts his head like a curious puppy. “What is that face? What are you planning?”

Jedikiah shrugs his shoulders, tries to relax – tries not to get lost in planning and scheming and plotting the next wave of a cold war he could never win. “Nothing definite. But I’ve assembled a group of people who could actually accomplish what I’ve failed to do for so long – scare the Founder into making a mistake, and fix all that went wrong in the past.”

John’s face twists into a grimace of uncomfortable scepticism. “Jed … I … I really have trouble believing that the Founder is supposed to be the one to blame for everything that’s happened. I remember, you know? And it’s probably true that most of the time I got at least a _warped_ impression of what was going on, but that doesn’t mean that you had nothing to do with anything bad that’s happened at Ultra. Do you … do you really expect me to believe that?”

Jedikiah huffs, is too used to this to feel anything else but mild impatience. “Of course not. I’m not a good man, John. I’m just a better man than the Founder. Barely. What I expect you to believe is that while I let my experiments get completely out of hand, he’s the one that means to eradicate all of mankind in favour of your new species. I assume you’ve read through the binders I gave you by now, yes? You know how the Machine works, what it’s supposed to do? That it will stop time – not just in a concentrated area, but _everywhere_.”

John sits and gapes at Jedikiah for a solid thirty seconds, then audibly snaps his mouth shut. “That’s what he wants the Machine for? _That’s_ why he wants to stop time? But … but how?”

Jedikiah waves his hand across the table. “The theory is that once time is stopped and a person’s heart’s not beating, that person is not _alive_ and thus can be … eradicated. Quite literally. I was always convinced that the Prime Barrier has more to do with consciousness and the _knowledge_ that you’re ending a life, but it seems I was wrong. Nothing new there … I often am.”

John’s face is ashen. “And you let that happen? You let him built it?”

Sometimes Jedikiah feels he might break when confronted with John’s readiness to find a way to make _everything_ his fault. “I didn’t _let_ him do anything. Roger and I destroyed it once – didn’t help us much. He just rebuilt it. He’s the one that needs to be stopped. Not the Machine.”

“You should have told us,” John exclaims. “You should have told Stephen!”

“Stephen doesn’t believe anything I say, and neither would you have.”

“Because you only ever lied to us!”

“Manipulated you with carefully administered portions of the truth, but yes, I see your point.” Jedikiah gets up and starts to clear the table. He just can’t sit anymore, can’t take much more of this with John staring at him like he decided he hates him after all. “My assembly is in possession of all the facts this time around. I’m not really needed anymore – for any kind of plan. I hope that’s an improvement.”

John’s eyes follow him around the kitchen, wide open and frightened. “Does that mean you’re out? That you don’t intend to help?”

To say Jedikiah’s relieved by this unexpected turn in the conversation would be a huge understatement. “Oh, I intend to help, kiddo, don’t you worry. I may not be super-human, but I’m still the one with the best gadgets.” Jedikiah lifts his head and twists it around to look at John. “That reminds me. I wanted to give you something.”

He briskly walks over to the living room and returns to the kitchen with a mobile phone, new, flat and shiny. “Here. It suppresses your signature when you jump. Try not to lose it.”

John takes it and shoves it into his jeans pocket. “Thank you. Now what?”

He looks up at Jedikiah as if the last few minutes did not happen – as if the trust and affection from last night were still there. Jedikiah – far too late and embarrassingly slowly – begins to comprehend that John will always be ready for forgive and at least try to understand him _if he only gives him the chance_.

He puts on a blank face. “What do you mean now what? Now we digest. It’s the healthy thing to do.” Jedikiah sits back down opposite of John, and John rolls his eyes at him.

“I mean about the Founder.”

Jedikiah re-fills his coffee cup. “Right now the assembly is of the opinion that he should be incarcerated somewhere safe. They haven’t yet decided where that might be.”

John stares at him as if he’s grown a second head. “What? How?”

“Don’t ask me. They’re very creative people, though – I’m sure they’ll come up with something.”

John’s still staring. “What kind of people have you –“

A door closes, steps become audible in the next room, and they both freeze. Then Melinda walks in – all bright colours and smoky voice, a picture of taste and fashion. “Jedikiah, honey, the front door was open. You really should take better care that – oh. Hello.”

He should have expected her. She likes surprise visits, after all – likes to check in on him and point out the flaws of his housekeeping while simultaneously feeding him baked goods. If he’d known beforehand that this was one possible outcome of people hitting him in the face he’d allowed it more often.

Jedikiah gets up to greet Melinda who’s stopped two steps into the room, a pleasantly surprised expression on her face and a basket on her elbow. That would be the baked goods. John still looks frozen in his seat, stares at the vision by the door as if he’s never seen an elderly black woman in a flower dress before. Jedikiah walks over to her and takes her hand. “I’m afraid I have to blame John for the open door. He arrived late last night. What can I do for you, Melinda?”

She leans up and into him to brush a quick kiss to his cheek, then hands him the basket. “You can take those of my hands, dear. I fear I went a little over board with the chocolate this time. I hope that’s okay.”

“Entirely,” he soothes her, and puts the basket on the table. “Melinda, this is John – John, Melinda.”

John thaws enough to get up and shake hands with her, and her eyes widen as soon as they touch. “Oh. Quite a special one, isn’t he.”

“Very special,” Jedikiah agrees. The first time she touched him – to hit him in the face – she called him a twisted individual, so warped it was a wonder he wasn’t able to see inside his own head to watch his brain work. It’s her specialty, reading people, is far stronger than her other powers, and he’ll never forget the expression of pure anguish in her eyes when she called him a stupid, reckless boy and helped him back on his feet.

He doesn’t understand why _knowing_ about him swayed her towards him instead of inciting her to push him even further away, to stomp him into the ground like a poisonous snake – has never understood it with Morgan, either. Maybe she thinks she’s supposed to fix him, when he knows for a certainty that there _is_ no fixing him, that he’ll never be anything but wicked.

He’s almost certain of what will happen now, watching her holding John’s hand. Admittedly, he hasn’t known Melinda all that long, but since meeting her, he’s formed a pretty accurate impression of her character and behaviour. He can’t help it. It’s what he does. All he has to do now is wait for the blow to fall.

He’s curious what she sees, what the memories on the forefront of John’s mind are, the ones he carries like armour. Melinda tried to explain to him how it works for her, that reading a person is not at all like reading a book, nicely put into order, black and white, something definite to hold on to. Instead it’s like grasping at free-floating feathers – eventually, if you can get enough of them, they will come together and help make a bird fly; but since not even the bird knows where to place them on its body, all that’s left to you are educated guesses and much conjecture.

She won’t take long to find out what makes John who he is – what broke his wings and left bloody fingerprints on his feathers.

She holds John’s hand in hers for a few seconds more, eyes intend on his face. Then they narrow and she turns and slaps the back of Jedikiah’s head. “You!”

“I deserved that,” Jedikiah admits, not at all surprised, rubbing his head. “I really did.”

John watches their violent exchange with wide eyes, clearly overwhelmed, maybe even a bit frightened.

“Well,” she muses, already moving, patting Jedikiah’s arm in a gesture somewhere between punishing and soothing. “there’s no accounting for affection, I suppose. As misplaced as it might be.”

“You really should not blurt out _all_ our secrets,” Jedikiah admonishes gently. “We need to have at least some left for entertainment.”

“Oh please,” she scoffs. “As though the two of you didn’t know what –“ She stops, looks from one to the other, and casts her eyes heavenward. “Jesus grant me strength. I am not going to touch that with a ten foot cattle prod. You two have fun with your mess. Enjoy the cookies. And don’t do anything stupid without at least telling someone.”

With that she glides out of the room like cruise ship intent on its course. A few seconds later they hear the front door close very emphatically.

“That,” John starts somewhat uncertain, “was … interesting.”

“Try spending a whole evening with her,” Jedikiah mutters. “She doesn’t even need to touch you to read you. She just looks at you. I’ve thought about carrying a hand-mirror with me to deflect her once she starts getting the stare.”

John snorts out a laugh and then immediately turns earnest. “Are the others like her?”

Jedikiah makes a startled noise of rejection. Even the idea is upsetting. “God no. Similar age group, otherwise completely different people. She’s the only one who actively tries to mother me – in her very own, special way. She really does believe in tough love, you know.”

“I’m sure that’s good for you.” John grins at him.

Jedikiah nods. “So am I.”

 

“So,” John’s standing in the middle of the kitchen, hands in his pockets. “I’ll be leaving now, I guess.”

They’ve just finished cleaning up the kitchen, putting everything back where it belongs and doing the dishes, and Jedikiah slowly closes the cupboard containing the plates. “Sure. If you want to.”

“I _have_ to,” John forces out, is suddenly right behind him, his arms around Jedikiah’s middle. “I have to go home and tell the others what you’re doing here – they need to know.”

“I agree.” Jedikiah turns around in John’s arms, “but I’d prefer if you didn’t actually tell them where ‘here’ is. Even if they wouldn’t attack me, the fewer people know where I am the better.”

John nods and rests his head on Jedikiah’s shoulder. “Can I come back?”

“Always,” Jedikiah says with fervent conviction. “Whenever you want to, kiddo.”

John lifts his head to look at him, and something in his gaze sends shivers down Jedikiah’s spine. “What is this to you?” he asks, visibly afraid of the answer but demanding it nonetheless. “Why are you being like this?”

Jedikiah can feel John’s heartbeat against his chest, rapid and terrified, and he puts his hands on John’s shoulders, brings enough space between them so he can look him in the eyes. Maybe he shouldn’t tell him. Maybe it would be better to keep the truth locked down, not only to shield himself, but John as well. But Jedikiah’s spend too much of his life hiding behind maybes already. He won’t do it anymore. “I am being like this, because, as for most questionable things I do, _I want to_. I really want to. It makes me feel good. I enjoy being close to you. I enjoy being … _nice_ to you. Because you’re dear to me.”

John’s eyes are wet and his breath comes out forced when he asks the question for a second time, “What is this to you?”

“Everything,” Jedikiah tells him.

 

John leaves, and then he comes back. A week passes. He comes to Jedikiah and they fuck – or they don’t. Sometimes they just lie in bed together, tangled beneath the sheets, too tired to do anything but kiss. But more often than not, they do fuck. It always starts with John pressing up to Jedikiah, with him leaning into Jedikiah’s space and demanding a kiss. Or it starts with Jedikiah brushing his fingers through John’s hair, gentle and careful. (Once that leads to Jedikiah giving John a haircut. But only once.)

Jedikiah does his best to ply John with food, teaches him a few simple recipes, and John teaches him some back. They cook together, and John bakes, surprises Melinda with cookies of his own when she pays them another unannounced visit. She treats him like her favourite grandson afterwards. (She already has five of those, but maintains that John is the sweetest of the bunch, and Jedikiah can’t blame her.)

It’s a peaceful, happy week, despite the meetings of Jedikiah’s assembly, despite the news John brings of what Stephen is experiencing at Ultra. The Founder is getting increasingly angry, it seems, is losing his touch and his patience together with his sanity, and agents are abandoning the sinking ship like rats. Most of them just vanish, but a few turn to the lesser evil they know – turn to Jedikiah.

He’s never quite sure how they find him, isn’t pleased at all that they do, but he takes them all in once Melinda has done a thorough background check on them and their intentions. He’s too familiar with duplicity to allow it into his new family.

And it is a family, despite his best efforts. Maybe he shouldn’t have allowed John to meet the assembly. He’s always been too charming to resist, especially for people who haven’t had years to grow accustomed to his smile, or his dimples, or the fact that he looks like a 12-year old when he grins. They all dote on him, even Karl, who is almost sixty and the meanest old man Jedikiah’s ever had the pleasure to meet – the kind of man who chases kids off his front lawn with a water hose.

John and Jedikiah learn to be around each other again, learn to be together without turning every moment into something that should be acted out on a theatre stage.

One week turns into two, and John asks if he can bring Cara with him to one of the assemblies, tells Jedikiah that she needs to meet them – meet all of them. Jedikiah allows it because he doesn’t know anymore how to say no to John, because he understands John’s desire to share this new part of his life with her.

Surprisingly enough, Cara doesn’t kill him. Jedikiah’s not sure what John has told her, how much she knows, but her eyes are more sad than angry when they meet, so she probably knows too much. They avoid talking or even looking at each other, until they suddenly find themselves alone in the kitchen, and she turns on him, fierce and beautiful and so wonderfully _ruthless_ and tells him that if he breaks John for a second time she’ll use the shards to cut him to pieces. He believes her. God, does he believe her.

They leave the kitchen together, encounter John’s worried glances with placid composure and do not talk again. They’ve reached an understanding.

Cara attends the meeting, listens without interrupting, and offers herself as an ally in case she’s wanted. It’s the most restraint, the most self-control and professionalism she’s ever shown Jedikiah, and he admires her for it. He has no idea how hard this situation is on her and can only assume it’s _very_ hard.

But is seems that she didn’t try to dissuade John from being with Jedikiah – at least not in a way that’d make it necessary for John to tell him; so he not only allows her presence but encourages it, tells John he can bring her as often as he likes. Jedikiah doesn’t trust her, not in any sense of the word, but he’s ready to believe that she only wants what’s best for John, and in that, they are similar enough that uneasily peaceful co-existence should be possible.

Which is why Jedikiah goes to her when John doesn’t come to him for three consecutive days.

The way through the subway tunnels is long and tedious, and when he emerges into the half-light of the lair, Russell is the first one to spot him. “You’re like Darth Vader, you know that? Always finding the rebels, no matter where they’re hiding out.”

“You not moving the secret lair really helps me with that,” Jedikiah drawls. “Is John around?”

Russell shakes his head. Jedikiah sighs. “Cara?”

“She’s here,” Russell nods, his mouth quirking into the customary grin, “but she won’t be pleased to see you.”

Jedikiah rolls his eyes. “Nobody ever is.”

Russell leads him to her and leaves, and for a few seconds she just glares at him, hands on her hips. “What?” she finally snaps. “What do you want?”

“I just want to make sure that John is alright,” he replies mildly. “I haven’t seen him in three days.”

She turns pale, her large eyes suddenly holding a terror he’d though she’d be unable to feel, and he knows what she’s going to say before the words leave her mouth. “Neither have I.”


	8. And You Cannot Blame me for not Giving up on You

It feels like his world is dropping out from under him. He should have known. He should have _known_ that John wouldn’t just stop coming to him without a reason – not after all this time. He should have sensed that something had happened, that something was wrong. He should have _taken care_ of John.

He promised that he would.

Cara looks at him as if she’s of a similar opinion, but then her features straighten, as do her shoulders. “What do we do? Where could he be?”

Jedikiah has only one answer for that, even if it is an old one, “The Founder.”

Cara looks just as sick as he feels after he’s uttered the words, briefly closes her eyes. “Why? Why now?”

Jedikiah feels almost inclined to laugh, but the lead weighing down his gut doesn’t allow it. “We evil men do not always need a reason. Opportunity is enough. But let’s not be too hasty: When did you last see him?”

Stephen barges into the room with Russell hot on his heels before Cara has the chance to answer. “Uncle Jed, where the _hell_ have you been?”

Jedikiah glances at Cara. “You didn’t tell him?”

She sighs and shakes her head. “We didn’t tell anyone. As per your request.”

Stephen makes confused noises, and Jedikiah turns towards him. “John is gone – missing.”

Stephen just stares at him. “And you know that how? Cara told me there was no need to worry.”

“Cara assumed he’s with me,” Jedikiah tells him. “He isn’t.”

Russell’s incredulous gasp is very audible in the silence that follows. “Why the hell would she assume that? What the fuck would he be doing at your place for three days anyway?”

Jedikiah clears his throat. “He has been over frequently in the last month. But that’s not the point. The point is that we do not know where he –“

“What do you mean that’s not the point?” Stephen interrupts him. “He hates you. Why would he voluntarily spend time with you? What have you been doing to him?”

“Stephen,” Cara says, her tone warning, “leave it be.”

He turns on her as if she’d tried to set his ass on fire. “You cannot possibly mean that!”

“I do,” she responds. “I mean exactly that. Jedikiah is not responsible for John’s disappearance. Someone else is. And John has been gone for three days. So could you please answer your uncle’s question before we lose even more time.”

Stephen must sense her true feelings below the brave front she’s presenting, because he closes the distance between them and puts his hands on her shoulders, looks at her with earnest compassion, looks so much like his father it makes Jedikiah nauseous. “I didn’t mean to –“

“I know,” she cuts him off. “Now please. Answer.”

He lets go of her to throw his hands up and heave an exasperated sigh. “The Founder has been just as scary-crazy as always. There’s been no change in behaviour … at least no worse than usual. And I’ve already told you that he’s gradually losing his shit – but that has been going on for _weeks_.”

“There is no-one else,” Jedikiah muses. “There’s just no-one else who would take John – no-one with a reason. I don’t believe in coincidence. Against anyone else, John would have had a chance –“

“Why do you even care?” Stephen demands, obviously not yet satisfied with Jedikiah’s presence. “You ran away.”

“And now I am back,” Jedikiah snaps at him. “Can you please focus on the problem at hand?”

“You always do that!” Stephen almost yells the words, makes the air around him flicker with power threatening to get out of control. Jedikiah has to fight with himself not to flinch away from the boy. “You always deflect – always say that there’s no time to explain, that I wouldn’t understand anyway, and I’m _sick_ of it. What was John doing with you? Why would he visit you? What have you been doing to him?”

“He’s been sleeping with him, okay?!” Cara’s words slash trough the room like a whip. Her chest is heaving, her eyes full of unshed tears. “They’ve been fucking ever since the night after John shot Cassandra. Every time John went away after that and we didn’t know where he was – he was with your uncle. That’s what he was doing, that’s where he was going. Can we now please move on and try to find him?!”

Stephen looks thunderstruck, and Jedikiah doesn’t blame him. It’s Russell who defuses the moment with a quiet whistle and the claim that he’d always known that Jedikiah was even creepier than already established.

Stephen’s eyes flick from Cara to Jedikiah, overwhelmed and unsure what to say, and Jedikiah shrugs his shoulders, feeling worn and far older than he is. “It’s true.”

“But …” Stephen trails off, looks at Cara again,“… but he … but you …”

“Not to sound mundane, but it’s complicated,” Jedikiah sighs. “I do care for him, though. More than anything else. And I’d like to get him back unharmed. I’d be grateful if you’d help me with that.”

Stephen deflates visibly – and moves to sit down on the only chair in the room. “I don’t know if the Founder has him. All I know is that I haven’t seen the man today – that I was glad I was spared his escalating insanity for at least one day. His training methods are _lethal_.”

Jedikiah stares at him. “John didn’t tell you not to set foot in that Machine?”

“He did tell me,” Stephen clarifies. “And I wouldn’t have. But as long as I still have to work at Ultra, I have to do what the Founder says, don’t I? Keep up appearances. I assume you know all about that.”

“Where would he have taken him?” Russell cuts in, and right at this moment, he might just be Jedikiah’s favourite person in the world. “He wouldn’t take him home, now would he? That would be crazy.”

“He _is_ crazy,” Jedikiah huffs. “And this is me speaking. Compared to him I am a model citizen. He’s probably taken him to …” He stops, feels his heart stuttering in his chest. “To where Cassandra died. He _has_ taken him home. It’s what I would do.”

“Revenge?” Cara stares at him, eyes wide and disbelieving. “You think this is about _revenge_?”

“What else is there?” Jedikiah feels his insides go cold with dread. “He doesn’t know where I’ve taken Roger – can’t have known about the change in my relationship to John … not before he took him. This isn’t about me or about his grand plans for humanity. This is about John, about what he did to Cassandra. Now that he has him it might turn into something else entirely, which is why we have to get to John before it’s too late.”

Stephen just looks at him for a long moment. “John might have … left. Is anybody considering that? He might be fine.”

“You haven’t known him for as long as we have,” Russell says, cracking his knuckles and rolling his head as if in preparation for a fistfight. “So I will pretend you didn’t just say that.”

Stephen backtracks immediately. “No, you’re right. I’m sorry. He wouldn’t have done that. So what do we do?”

He looks around for anyone to step forward and save the day, and Jedikiah briefly closes his eyes. Stephen might be Roger’s son and therefore predestined to take over and be the hero, but this is Jedikiah’s responsibility. It always has been. “If somebody could take me home so that I can get my gun that would be great.”

Stephen stares at him. “You’re not planning a surprise attack, are you? Because that didn’t really work the last time around, and –“

“Well, then what do you propose, Stephen?” Jedikiah yells at him. “We’ve lost three days already! John might be dead for all we know, and whatever convoluted plan we _might_ come up with could always fail anyway. If somebody gets me on the premises I can do the rest and fight my way through to wherever I need to go, but –“

“Hold your horses,” Russell interrupts him. “Of all the suicide missions, this must be the craziest of them all. Have you gone completely bonkers?”

Jedikiah doesn’t have _time_ for this. John is in danger, might be dying or already dead, and Jedikiah simply doesn’t care what happens to him. If the last two weeks have taught him anything it’s that an existence without John is simply not worthwhile.

“Melinda,” Cara says, her voice cold and hard like stainless steel, cooling the fury inside him down to manageable levels. “She’ll help us.”

“Who the fuck is Melinda and why would she help us?” Russell demands, sounding bewildered. “Has John been sleeping with anybody else we don’t know about? What the hell, Cara?”

Jedikiah stares at her, his mouth dry, his stomach tied in knots. He can feel the fury acting up again, trying to get control over him. “You propose I mobilise my assembly? You think they’d help?”

She nods. “For John? I think they would.” She hesitates, then looks him straight in the eye. “And for you, too.” She moves towards Jedikiah and grabs his elbow to teleport them out – and Russell lifts a hand. Cara actually waits for him to speak, and Jedikiah wants to _hit_ something.

Russell waves his hand around. “Stop. Will you two just stop and explain? Please? Because this fucked-up secrecy is what _always_ brought us down in the past, and I could really do without that for once.”

Stephen nods his emphatic support of this sentiment, and Jedikiah sighs, torn between what his mind knows is right and what his heart and body scream at him to do. “Alright. Come with us. Melinda’s probably at my place anyway. I’m out of cookies.”

Stephen looks befuddled and Russell flabbergasted, but they both move to hold on to Cara, and she teleports them all out.

 

Melinda’s in the kitchen when they arrive, sitting at the table, reading a magazine. She looks up when they appear, and puts the magazine down. She’s wearing a red dress and sensible heels and looks more shaken then Jedikiah’s ever seen her before. “What’s going on? You left the front door open again. The whole house stinks of fear. Who are those kids?”

“We’ll have a talk about you invading my privacy,” Jedikiah greets her, lets go of Cara to move over to Melinda and she gets up and takes his hand, flinches when they touch. “A rather stern one I’m fully prepared to lose. The kids are Russell and Stephen. Friends of John.”

“Stephen,” she echoes, stares past Jedikiah to give Stephen a once-over. “Marla’s kid?”

They all gape at her, and her expression turns sour. “Why aren’t you in school, boy? Does your mother know where you are?”

Stephen looks decidedly uncomfortable. “She … does … not.” She scowls, and he gulps, tries to rally under her disapproving glare. “It’s an emergency!”

She scoffs. “Yes, I can tell. It always is. I’m going to call her.”

“The Founder has taken John,” Jedikiah says, although he’s sure she already knows. He feels dizzy, is almost proud of how his voice _doesn’t_ break. “At least we believe he did.”

Melinda just hums and moves over to the kitchen table to where her blood-red handbag’s sitting right on top of it. She pulls out the mobile phone Jedikiah has given her weeks ago and dials. It takes a few seconds until the call connects, and Jedikiah tries to comprehend what’s going on and fails, even when she opens her mouth to speak. “Marla, darling, your boy is at Jedikiah’s, letting himself be drawn into a bright new mess. Do you think you could ditch work today and help him out?”

Marla’s voice becomes audible on the other end of the line, and Stephen flails around to direct an incredible stare at Jedikiah, who still hasn’t the foggiest how Melinda and Marla even _know_ each other. Meanwhile, Melinda calmly continues her conversation. “Yeah, we’re at the address I gave you. We’ll wait.” She hangs up and neatly puts her phone away, then directs an inquiring glance at Jedikiah. “You want me to call in anyone else?”

“Did you really just call my mother?” Stephen demands incredulously before Jedikiah has the chance to say anything. “Because we definitely didn’t want you to do that!”

“And why not?” Melinda asks him, visibly annoyed. “Why do you kids always think you have to do everything by yourselves? Why wasn’t she the first person you asked for help? Because let me tell you, boy, you did not inherit your powers exclusively from your father – and if there’s anyone in this world who would do _everything_ to keep you out of trouble it’s the woman who raised you – she’s done so all your life!”

“It’s not _my_ trouble!” Stephen exclaims, justifiably on the defence. “It’s Uncle Jed’s, and I don’t want her drawn into it!”

Melinda just shrugs that off. “Yeah, well, your idiotic uncle should have called her, too. She’s family, after all. She’s always been smack in the middle of your troubles anyway. No sense in keeping her out of the loop.”

“Can we _please_ stop talking and get a move on!” Jedikiah feels as if he’s suffocating, every passing minute drawing the rope tighter around his neck. “This is all just a waste of time!”

Melinda eyes him with tolerant patience. “You’re usually better under pressure, honey.”

He wants to hit his head against the nearest wall, and decides to distract himself with getting answers. “How?” he demands. “For how long have you –“

“I’ve known Marla since she helped deliver my first grandbaby,” Melinda tells him. “And since you never told me about her, I figured I didn’t have to, either. This looks like the perfect moment to combine resources, though, don’t you think?”

Marla interrupts his answer with her appearance in a flash of light, her hair tousled, looking harassed. She’s still wearing her scrubs. “What’s going on?”

“John is missing,” Stephen tells her, suddenly seemingly unperturbed by his mother’s involvement. “And it seems you and Uncle Jed share a friend neither of you cared to mention so far.”

Marla and Melinda just nod at each other. Jedikiah opens his mouth and closes it, briefly shakes his head. “Will you help?” he asks Marla. “Will you help us?”

“Of course I will!” she snaps, “I guess we don’t have much time? Who has him – the Founder?”

“We don’t know,” Stephen says, “but it’s a sound guess. He’s been gone for three days, and while Cara assumed he was with Jed, Jed assumed he was with Cara. That’s what joined custody gets you.”

Cara glares at him, and Marla groans. “I hate this.”

Jedikiah makes an impatient move towards her. “We need to hurry!” He can feel his control slipping away, feels his fingers itching for a gun to hold.

“You need to calm down,” she tells him. “I can see you’re worried. But calm _down_.”

Jedikiah looks around, encounters quite a number of oddly sympathetic glances, and has to close his eyes. He curls his fingers to fists, tries to ignore their pathetic, useless emptiness. “What do we do?”

“We move in, get the boy out,” Melinda says. “Easy.”

“They have guns,” Cara cautions. She sounds just as much on edge as Jedikiah feels, and somehow that helps him to keep a hold on his control.

“We have powers,” Melinda counters, matter-of-fact. “And our Jed here can shoot back, should the necessity arise. But it probably won’t. Most people freak out when confronted with their darkest fears.”

Russell whistles, and she winks at him. “I watched those Harry Potter movies with my granddaughter. They had some great ideas.”

Russell looks smitten.

“Should we tell any of the others?” Cara asks. “Move in with more force?”

“Not necessary,” Melinda decides. “If you ask me, you and the boys should stay out of this anyway. Your powers are not yet all they’re supposed to be, and I’d much rather not involve you.”

What follows is an outcry of indignation Jedikiah has little to no patience for at the moment. “John is their friend,” he says, his voice dangerously calm, and cutting right through the commotion. “Let them come. They may have not won the war, but they’ve fought more battles than you would like to imagine.”

Melinda turns her head to look at him, and sighs. “Very well. Go get your gun, dear.”

 

It’s not much of a fight.

Melinda is relentlessly mean, and Marla fights surprisingly dirty. They leave stricken opponents in their path, clutching at their heads, at imaginary wounds and real ones, and Jedikiah doesn’t need to fire a single shot.

Safety measures are always at their peak right _after_ an attack has occurred, but Jedikiah’s brilliant at disabling anything running on electricity, and the rest of his rag-tag group has super-powers. It’s surprisingly easy to invade the premises.

Once inside the house with no opposition left, Cara and Melinda link powers to hone in on John’s frequency … but there’s nothing there. Just grey noise. Jedikiah’s knees almost give in when they tell him.

“I don’t sense the Founder either,” Cara says, the despair very audible in her voice. “Maybe they aren’t here.”

“If I were an evil overlord,” Russell says slowly, his voice rising over the black mist trying to obscure Jedikiah’s hearing and vision, “I’d have a dungeon. A safe-room. Something deep enough underground and behind enough barriers that I could do whatever I liked without anyone noticing.” Stephen raises judging eyebrows at him, and he lifts both hands in a placating gesture. “ _If_ I were an evil overlord.”

“Lets check the cellar,” Marla decides, her voice grim. “Since we’re already here we might as well be thorough.”

So they go on, try to find hidden pathways that might lead somewhere, and finally come up with a trap door in the pantry.

“How very cliché,” Melinda comments. “Just how I like it.”

They open the trap door just to find solid steal underneath it.

“Well, that looks promising,” Russell says. “How do we get in?”

Jedikiah’s at a point where he’s ready to try brute force and kill himself in the process. Marla puts a pacifying hand on his shoulder, but doesn’t say a word.

“Let me give it a try,” Stephen chimes in unexpectedly. “We have those locks at Ultra. The Founder had me disabling them with my mind until my ears bled.” Marla’s throat produces a snarling sound, and Stephen clears his throat. “Figuratively speaking.”

They all step back to give Stephen some room, watch his face scrunch up in agony, and try not to flinch when his ears do actually start to bleed. Jedikiah knows how hard it is to watch the person you love suffer, and he expects Marla to step in and make Stephen stop, but she doesn’t. She balls her hands up to fists, bites her lip so hard it first turns white and then starts bleeding as well, but she doesn’t move, doesn’t say anything.

The little clicking noise when the lock gives in is very loud in the absence of all other sound. Immediately afterwards, Stephen collapses, goes down to his knees, supported by Cara’s and Russell’s hands on him. He shakes his head as if to clear it of cobwebs, and blinks bloodshot eyes at them. “That felt really uncomfortable.”

“Are you okay?” his mother asks him, her voice quiet, with an underlying anger Jedikiah’s infinitely glad he isn’t the recipient of.

“Totally,” Stephen lies and scrambles to his feet. “I’m just peachy.”

He sways, and Cara steadies him, calls him an idiot under her breath.

“Stay behind with him,” Marla says to her. “Make sure no-one follows us.”

It’s the perfect order. Stephen couldn’t possibly complain about being left behind when he’s given a purpose, and Cara might just be the only one with sufficient influence and power to be his ideal partner. Cara simply nods, and Stephen doesn’t complain, and Jedikiah’s quietly impressed. He steps forward and opens the door, pulls it up to reveal a metal staircase, winding down into darkness.

“He’s really keeping in touch with the dark overlord theme, isn’t he,” Russell murmurs. “Evil jerk.”

Jedikiah’s mouth twitches, but he doesn’t grin; he adjusts the grip on his gun and puts his foot on the first step, starts the descend, and tries to ignore the thundering sound of his heartbeat in his ears. Marla and Melinda follow with Russell, all of them quiet, focused and _ready_.

The staircase isn’t long, and when it hits the ground it’s naked earth, hard and dry, four square metres of it, fenced in by metal, the only way out back up the staircase or through a slim door let into the south wall.

There’s no lock on this one.

Jedikiah shares a quick glance with Marla, and she nods at him, looking just as impatient as he feels. He tastes his heartbeat in his throat when he reaches out, almost flinches when the door handle is cold to the touch.

The door swings open to reveal a brightly-lit area, all stainless steel and chrome, surfaces it’s easy to clean off blood from.

There’s a table in the middle of the room, or maybe it’s a gurney. It has straps and handcuffs attached to it … manacles even. It’s empty.

But the room isn’t.

The Founder is on the opposite side, and John is on his knees in front of him, half naked, his back turned towards Jedikiah. It’s covered in bruises. Some of them look like cuts. Others look like whip-lashes.

Jedikiah has his gun up and pointed at the founder before he’s fully comprehended what’s going on.

“Ah, John,” the Founder drawls, not at all intimidated by their intrusion, “it looks like your Daddy has finally come to save you. Took him long enough.” He has his hand on John’s cheek, is holding his head up – seems to be the only thing that’s stopping John from falling forwards. “Three days,” he says, his voice clear and sharp like glass shards, “I am very disappointed in you, Jedikiah. When it transpired that you’ve taken the boy into your bed I expected you a lot sooner.”

Jedikiah’s still pointing the gun at him, aiming at his face, squarely between the eyes. The rage boiling inside him doesn’t allow him to speak.

“What did you do to John?” Marla asks, her voice steady and calm like the sea harbouring a kraken in its depths.

The Founder smiles. “Almost everything. I stopped short of sodomy because my tastes just don’t run that way, but I made sure that dear, _dear_ John experienced almost every other form of torture. He deserved it, after all.”

Jedikiah pulls the trigger then, but the bullet drops uselessly a few inches after its release, rolls tinkling across the ground.

The Founder sneers at him. “You lot really do not learn from experience, do you?”

Jedikiah’s far too close to pulling the trigger for a second time, and again, and again, until the magazine is empty, but Melinda’s voice stops him. “He’s lying. He was surprisingly unimaginative in his treatment of the boy.”

The Founder focuses his gaze on her like a snake might on a charmer. “And who might you be?”

She smiles, just as cold as he does. “A concerned citizen. Let the boy go. He didn’t do anything to you.”

“He killed my daughter,” the Founder grates out, losing most of his icy composure.

“No,” Russell corrects him, voice low but unwavering. “You did.”

The Founder just stares at him.

“You did,” Russell repeats, louder this time. “Slowly and intimately. Took you years to do it. But you killed her.”

The Founder lets go of John, and he topples forward, hits the ground with a helpless, whimpering sound that slices into Jedikiah like a knife. The hand holding his gun starts to shake, and he lowers it, has enough trouble just to keep on breathing.

“Let him go,” he says, and it sound like a plea, “you know it wasn’t his plan. What happened to Cassandra wasn’t his fault!”

“Exactly!” the Founder yells at him, all self-restraint forgotten. “I had to lose my child, so why should you be allowed to keep yours?! Why should I let you take him home to continue with your perverse treatment of him? Staying here with me can’t be much worse for him, all things considered – don’t you think so, Jedikiah?”

To cry at a time like this would be a sign of weakness he’d probably never come back from, so Jedikiah forces his tears back, swallows them down and shakes his head. “No. He was happy with me. We were happy.”

“Yes, and how _dare_ you!” The Founder steps away from John’s still body, advances on them like a man possessed. “How dare you be happy when my child is dead?!”

“Shoot,” Marla says directly next to him. “Now.”

So Jedikiah lifts his gun and fires.

 

There’s no dramatic black smoke, no portal to another dimension opening to swallow up the villain. There isn’t even that much blood. The bullet hits just where Jedikiah intends it to – right between the eyes. It takes the Founder’s body far too long to register what’s happening, to stop working, to go down and fall over … to finally allow its blood to spread out in a growing pool of crimson.

Jedikiah doesn’t even wait for it to fall.

He’s moving with the gun shot still ringing in his ears, is by John’s side and on his knees half a heartbeat later, pulling him into his arms, mindful of his cuts and bruises. “I am so sorry, kiddo. I am so sorry it took me so long. I didn’t know. I had no idea.”

John doesn’t answer him.

But his eyes are open, fixed on him, surprisingly cognizant. They’re wet, and red, but not frightened. Jedikiah feels overwhelmed by relief, by the sudden possibility of redemption. John isn’t dead, he isn’t _lost_.

“We need to get him somewhere I can assess his condition,” he hears Marla’s voice from somewhere to his left. “Let’s take him home.”

“You do that,” Melinda agrees. “I’ll stay here and clean up.”

Jedikiah’s gaze briefly flickers over to her, still viable to be astonished by her.

She shrugs her shoulders at him. “What. Do you expect me to let the kids do it? Scar them for life? I don’t think so.”

Jedikiah has to agree. Russell’s looking shaky enough as it is, and Marla quietly advises him to go back up the staircase to Cara and Stephen, teleport them back to Jedikiah’s. He obeys immediately.

“Hey, John,” Marla says, her voice gentle, _motherly_ as she crouches down beside them. “Ready to get out of here?”

Brave little soldier that he is, John actually manages to _smile_ at her – out of a face that’s so covered in bruises it has to hurt like hell just to blink – and now Jedikiah cannot hold back the tears any more. He lets them fall quietly, doesn’t bother wiping them off or hiding them. John reaches out to take his hand when he notices, just when Marla gets a hold of them both and teleports them out.

 

They take John to the bedroom and strip him down to his underwear. Marla’s infinitely careful with him, her hands gentle and precise, but John still whimpers in pain, and Marla directs an inquiring glance at Jedikiah. “Do you have anything in the house that we could give him for the pain? Anything at all?”

Jedikiah blinks at her through his tears, and Stephen, who’s hovering nervously by the door clears his throat. “I’m gonna go and check the bathroom.” He makes a half-turn and flails. “Where is it?”

Cara straightens from her half-crouched position by the bed and walks over to him. “I know where it is. Come on.”

They’re out of the room a second later, leaving Russell to watch the proceedings from a safe distance. Marla starts to check John’s injuries with competent efficiency, Jedikiah hovering over her shoulder. She doesn’t say a word, moves her hands from bruise to bruise, strokes and prods the purpling skin, the expression on her face somewhere between blank and apologetic. It takes Jedikiah a few seconds to realize that they are conversing via telepathy, and for the first time in many, many years he lets himself be jealous of that ability … if only because he desperately needs to know where John is hurting so that he can make it stop.

Stephen and Cara return with a tiny bottle full of pills, and Stephen hands it over to his mother. “Those are the strongest painkillers we were able to find.”

She straightens and takes them, checks the label, nods her approval. “They should do. As far as I can tell, there are no broken bones or internal injuries.” She looks at John, eyes intent on his face, and Jedikiah guesses they’re having another silent conversation. “Jed, get me a glass of water, please.”

He hesitates, is unwilling to leave John’s side for even a minute, and she clears her throat. “Russell?”

He’s out of the room like a shot. Marla shoots Jedikiah a glance from the corner of her eyes. “You’re surprisingly useless, aren’t you? Sit down and take his hand.”

Her voice is gentle, and Jedikiah’s legs fold without any conscious input from his brain. He reaches out for John’s right hand, takes it between his own and holds it carefully.

“He won’t break,” Marla tells him softly. “His hands are undamaged. Get a proper grip. He needs that right now.”

Jedikiah looks up at her, and then down at John, who gazes back at him without offering any clue that would confirm Marla’s words. Jedikiah squeezes his hand anyway. John squeezes back.

“I have returned!” Russell announces before he’s even halfway into the room, stomps over to the bed with graceless determination. “Water for our injured hero. I even remembered to put a straw in it because I’m just _that_ awesome.”

John makes a tiny little sound that could be amusement, and Jedikiah suddenly feels weak as all the adrenaline leaves him at once.

Marla opens the bottle with the painkillers, takes two of the pills and gives them to John, then gestures for Russell to put the straw between his lips. He complies, careful and a little bit clumsy, and Jedikiah takes the glass from him more or less automatically.

“Better,” Marla comments, very quietly, and Jedikiah has no idea what she’s talking about until John squeezes his hand again, is laughing at him with his eyes.

“Oh?” he says, pulls his left eyebrow up. “My uselessness is a source of amusement to you, yes? How gratifying.”

John blinks his lashes at him in a way Jedikiah interprets as explicit confirmation. He takes the glass and its straw away when there’s no water left to drink and puts it on the nightstand.

“Stephen, show me the bathroom,” Marla orders. “I need bandages and ointment.” She directs an inquiring gaze at Jedikiah. “You got those, right? Or do I need to go shopping?”

Jedikiah smiles softly, doesn’t stop looking at John while he answers her. “You’ll find everything you need in the cabinet left of the bathtub.”

“Good,” she says, and leaves the bedroom with Stephen in her wake.

Russell clears his throat. “I’m gonna go and get more water. Come on, Cara, you can help me.”

They leave the room in a manner that suggests flight from a tiger’s cage, and Jedikiah raises another eyebrow at John. “What do they think is going to happen? That I’m going to take you right in front of them? _Now_?”

John manages to shrug with his eyebrows, and Jedikiah leans forward to kiss the one un-bruised spot on his forehead. “I am so, so sorry, John. I should have checked in on you sooner.” John looks up at him, his expression sad, and Jedikiah carefully strokes his fingers through his grimy hair. “I failed you.”

“No,” John says then, his voice tiny and broken. He doesn’t say anything else, but for Jedikiah it’s enough. His tears start falling again, and John’s throat produces a distressed sound – unwilling to see someone else suffer even when he himself is in so much pain.

Jedikiah shakes his head and wipes at his eyes with the back of his free hand. “I love you, kiddo. I really do.”

John’s eyebrows inform him that he’s known that for at least a week, and then Marla comes back into the room with bandages and ointment and tells Jedikiah in no uncertain terms to get off the bed and lend her a hand.


	9. Let's Blame the Sun for Shining While We’re at it

It takes the better part of an hour to take care of all of John’s injuries, but the pain-killers kick in during the first ten minutes, and he falls asleep as soon as they are done.

“He hit him,” Marla says quietly, while Jedikiah sits back down on the bed beside John. Cara, Stephen and Russell were sent out of the room to get some rest, and they followed that order, even if they did it accompanied by grumbling. “That’s all he did. Again and again. Considering what that man was capable of, we can almost be glad.”

Jedikiah wipes at his eyes again, although they have been dry for some time now. “Yeah,” he says. “Almost.”

She huffs and walks over to him, puts her hand on his shoulder. “He’s going to be fine. At least physically. I promise.”

“His body was seldom the part of him I had to worry about,” Jedikiah responds a little wistfully.

Marla’s grip on his shoulder gets firmer, almost painfully so. “Speaking of bodies,” she says calmly. “Where is Roger?”

Jedikiah freezes.

“Just tell me,” she demands, and her tone of voice is precariously close to the one she used when she was talking to the Founder. “Bathory’s dead. You shot him. We don’t have to worry about him and his Machine any more. Where is my husband, Jedikiah?”

He hesitates for a heartbeat longer, is so used to keeping secrets, so used to keeping everything to himself that it’s almost impossible to allow the idea into his brain that it’s no longer necessary.

“He’s in the cellar,” he says then, hears her shocked gasp and looks up to her, face openly apologetic. “I have my own evil overlord dungeon, you know …”

“Is he –“ she starts, voice horrified, and he shakes his head.

“No. He’s not dead. I … I kept him alive, somehow. Or at least mostly so. It won’t be easy to bring him back, but it’s possible.”

Her fingernails threaten to tear through the fabric covering his shoulder and right into his flesh. “You are such a –“

“I know,” he interrupts her, voice soft. “I know.”

“You’re going to tell me everything,” she demands. “Starting right now.”

She lets go of his shoulder to walk across the room, to sit down in the armchair by the window and direct a commanding stare at him – and Jedikiah very reluctantly starts to talk, while John continues sleeping, right by his side.

He’s hoarse when he stops talking, and once he has nothing left to tell her, she gets up immediately, leaves the room without a word. Maybe he should go with her, show her down to the cellar and Roger’s body – but he won’t leave John alone. He can’t.

Roger is no longer his priority.

John wakes up about twenty minutes after Marla has left, groans before he even opens his eyes; Jedikiah gets the glass of water from the nightstand, straw ready. “Thirsty?”

John blinks affirmative lashes at him, and opens his lips so Jedikiah can place the straw between them. He drinks, and then waits for Jedikiah to put the glass back before he speaks. “Thank you.”

His voice still doesn’t sound quite like him, is too scratchy and too weak, but there’s a warmth to it that Jedikiah wants to bury himself in. He doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t even know where to begin.

His silence seems to worry John – turns his expression concerned. “Are you okay?”

“Am I –“ Jedikiah’s heart does a painful quickstep right against his ribcage. “No!” he grinds out, and it feels like he has to talk against gravel blocking his throat. “No, I’m not okay! You got hurt! Again! Even after I promised you not to let that happen anymore – you still got hurt! And that … that’s not okay, kiddo. Not at all.”

He stops talking and stares down at John, chest heaving, breathing too fast. John looks back at him, and the expression in his eyes is somewhere between sad and amused. “Am I _going_ to be okay?”

Jedikiah nods, immediately and too fast. “Yes. Marla said so. She says you’re going to be fine.”

John smiles at him, although it visibly pains him. “There you go. He only beat me. I’ve had worse.”

It makes Jedikiah want to cry all over again.

“Stop,” John whispers. “Stop it, Jed. Come here and hold me. I’m cold.”

It’s a blatant lie, but Jedikiah doesn’t call him out on it. Instead he gets up and gets rid of his shoes, then crawls into bed to lie down next to John and gingerly take him into his arms. “Like this?”

“Mh-hm,” John sighs and closes his eyes. “Like this.”

Melinda finds them like that fifteen minutes later. She remains in the doorframe, regards the scene on the bed out of dark, knowing eyes, and smiles. “I made soup. In case anyone’s hungry.”

Jedikiah lifts his head off the pillow to look at her. “How are the kids?”

He doesn’t ask about Hugh Bathory’s mortal remains and the crime scene she cleaned up – doesn’t ask her how _she_ is. He knows better.

She grins, a little too wide, a bit too sharp. “Ravenous. But I made plenty, don’t you worry.”

She leaves them alone again, and John rolls over and onto his side, moves as close to Jedikiah as humanly possible – groaning all the way through it, but still not stopping. Jedikiah doesn’t try to stop him, either. There are no stitches he could tear, only an endless number of bruises, and John seems to hit every single one of them before he stops moving.

“Did you just refer to Cara, Russell and Stephen as _kids_?” John asks when he finally lies still again, and Jedikiah relaxes and heaves a sigh.

“I did, didn’t I?” He brushes a kiss to John’s forehead – the one spot free from bandages and ointment. “Are you hungry?”

“A little,” John admits. “But I don’t think I can eat.”

“You should at least try,” Jedikiah tells him softly. “Otherwise, Melinda will get cranky.”

“Can’t risk that,” John smiles at him, and Jedikiah kisses him again.

“You’re right. We can’t.”

Five minutes later, Cara appears with a bowl of soup, and Jedikiah very carefully gets John into an upright position. “Is everyone still here?” he asks her while he’s fussing with the sheets, and she nods, but avoids looking at him.

“Stephen and Marla are down in the cellar. Melinda’s in the kitchen, baking cookies. Russell’s helping her.”

Jedikiah clears his throat. “I see. Thank you, Cara. Can you stay with John while I go down for a few minutes? Try to make him eat, yeah? I’ll be right back.”

If he’s being honest, Jedikiah still doesn’t want to leave John’s side – but Cara cares about John just as much as he does, and their connection is so strong it wouldn’t make any sense for Jedikiah not to entrust him to her. So he leaves and goes down into the kitchen where Russell is currently employed with slathering cookies in multi-coloured frosting, while Melinda’s cracking eggs into a fresh bowl of something that will probably turn into even _more_ baked goods.

“Please tell me you’ll stop once you run out of ingredients?” Jedikiah says, and she snorts.

Her eyes are still too bright, grin too sharp when she answers him. “Not a chance. I can get supplies quickly enough. And if you want me to gather the rest of our club to pay a surprise-visit to Ultra headquarters, the least we can do is bring gifts. It will make everything go that much smoother.”

Jedikiah’s eyebrows climb up his forehead. “What – today?”

She winks at him, softens a little around the edges. “No time like the present, honey. Those poor idiots probably don’t even know yet that their dark lord is dead. They’ll fall before us like so many jenga-towers.”

Jedikiah blinks at her choice of words, then points an accusatory finger at Russell. “You. Stop talking to her!”

Russell grins and resumes his sugar-glaze frenzy with surprisingly steady hands, and Jedikiah turns back to Melinda. “Do you need me for your world-domination plans?”

“We’ll manage just fine without you,” she tells him serenely. “You have enough on your hands as it is … with your golden boy upstairs and your brother in the basement. I swear to God I don’t know why I didn’t finish you when I had the chance. More entertaining this way, I guess.”

The doorbell rings, and she puts the bowl down. “That will be the others.”

Jedikiah clears his throat. “I’ll get out of your hair, then.”

She nods. “That’s probably for the best.”

He flees into the cellar. Not his best idea ever, but since he has to confront Marla and Stephen at some point, he’d rather be over and done with it. His ‘dungeon’ is nothing like the Founder’s – the floor is brick, the walls dark wood. It’s a wine cellar, well ventilated, smells earthy and fresh, and if it weren’t for the huge glass coffin in the middle of the floor it’d be a nice enough place to spend some time. As it is, the atmosphere is more eerie than anything else.

Marla and Stephen are standing next to the coffin, staring down at Roger’s frozen body, silent and overwhelmed. As soon as Stephen becomes aware of Jedikiah’s presence, his eyes light up with a hatred so pure it probably classifies as a religious experience. Jedikiah doesn’t move when the boy comes at him, lets Stephen hit him without putting up any resistance.

He does not expect Marla to step in – and she doesn’t. Stephen stops by himself after he gets in a few good hits, stands before Jedikiah panting, tears in his eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Jedikiah cautiously prods at his bleeding lip. “I couldn’t. I was afraid what the Founder might find inside your head.”

Stephen looks as if he wants to hit him again, and doesn’t. Jedikiah can see Roger’s frozen body over his shoulder, still asleep, still dead to the world and everything that’s going on around him. “He’s my _dad_ ,” Stephen says, voice thick with emotion, and Marla lifts her head to look at her son, eyes brimming over with the intolerable surrender to the fact that she never truly succeeded in keeping her boy safe.

“Yeah well.” Jedikiah swallows and closes his eyes, because he knows all too well how that feels – tastes blood. “He’s my brother. And we’ll get him back, soon.” He looks at Marla. “Speaking of brothers: Does you second-born know where you are?”

Her look of wide-eyed guilt actually startles a laugh out of him. It’s painful on so many levels. “Go. Bring him over as soon as you’re ready. We can all freak-out together.”

She nods and takes Stephen’s arm to teleport them both out, and Jedikiah returns back upstairs to John and Cara, where he waves away John’s worried inquiries about his split lip and black eye. “Stephen didn’t like that I hid his dad in my cellar. He had to get that out of his system.”

Cara shares a glance with John and then quietly starts moving from her spot by the bed, gets the antiseptic spray and ointment from the nightstand. Jedikiah automatically steps out of her reach when she advances on him. “What are you doing?”

She shoots him a glare so old-fashioned it’s practically neolithic. “What do you _think_?”

Jedikiah looks over to John just to realize he’s laughing at him with his eyes again. So he holds still for Cara to prod at his face with fingers that could be decidedly more gentle, and then rejoins John on the bed. “Did you eat?”

John claims that he did, and Cara confirms his story, even goes so far as to show Jedikiah the empty bowl, so there’s nothing left for Jedikiah to do but wait for Luca to arrive and vent his frustrations on him, too.

 

John and Jedikiah are taking a nap when their world changes. They sleep right through the revolution. They wake up in each others arms – Jedikiah grumpy and John still a bit high on pain-killers – to Russell looming over the bed, his face a picture of horrified fascination.

“Can I just tell you how weird this is? Because it is _really_ weird. And a bit disgusting. But mostly weird. And by the way: Ultra is no more. Melinda and her gang of Oldies but Goldies cookie-bombed them until they cried. Hurray, we’re delivered.”

He actually throws up his arms for the last bit.

Jedikiah’s still feeling a bit grumpy about being wakened in the middle of his nap, but John’s adorably confused face distracts him from that quite nicely. “Any casualties?” he rumbles.

Russell lowers his arms and shrugs. “Karl twisted his ankle, and hit Joseph with his cane when he laughed at him. That’s it. Where did you _find_ those people?”

John’s hand finds its way into the fabric covering Jedikiah’s chest, jerks on it impatiently, and Jedikiah looks up to Russell with a dangerous gleam in his eye. “Let me tell you some other time. Now get out.”

Russell more or less sprints out of the room – yells at them over his shoulder that he’s going to tell the others and release them from their lives as sewer-rats _right fucking now_. Jedikiah finds his choice of words oddly endearing.

“What?” John says, once Russell’s gone, perplexity lining his features. “What just happened?”

Jedikiah very dutifully tries to explain it to him. It doesn’t take very long, despite the influence the medication still has on John, and he looks shaken by the news. “It’s over?” he asks, voice disbelieving, almost fearful. “It’s finally over?”

Jedikiah gently brushes the hair off his forehead. “Not yet. We still have to wake-up Roger.”

The words do nothing to abate John’s fears, and Jedikiah takes his hand into his own and lets his thumb stroke over the warm skin. “It’s going to be fine, kiddo. If anyone has any reason to be mad, it’s you. Roger knows that better than anyone. You have nothing to be worried about.”

John looks at him through his lashes. “What if he doesn’t wake up?”

The thought has crossed Jedikiah’s mind more than once in the years that passed; he’s used to imagining a life without his brother – is already used to living that life. In this world, in this life, Roger is as good as dead, has been absent far too long, and getting him back would be a miracle, a gift. Admittedly, Jedikiah’s never given up hope that Roger would someday be returned to them, but that doesn’t mean he _expects_ it.

Jedikiah can’t even begin to imagine what the sheer possibility of Roger’s return might feel like for John, and he kisses him, infinitely careful. “We haven’t even tried yet. But if he really doesn’t make it, we’ll … get through it. We’ve survived everything else, we’re going to survive that as well.”

“I don’t want to survive anymore,” John whispers, almost stops Jedikiah’s heart from beating. “I want to live. I want Roger back – I want you … I want you to get your brother back, and Stephen his father. Marla was so good to me, and I … I couldn’t even tell her what I did … Luca never even knew what was going on, why Roger left him to grow up all alone.”

Jedikiah desperately wants to tell John not to blame himself, but he might as well tell the rain not to fall. “I understand,” he says instead. “I understand why you blame yourself, darling … and for once in my life I’d rather you blame me instead. But whoever is to blame for this, it doesn’t change the fact that both of us only did what Roger wanted us to do.”

John blinks teary eyes at him, and Jedikiah kisses him again. “Please wait for the blow to fall before you lose your head over this, okay? You need to heal, not to drive yourself crazy with worry.”

John nods and proceeds to crawl on top of Jedikiah, once more completely inconsiderate of his bruises. Once he’s lying still, Jedikiah puts his arms around John, gazes up at him with just a smidgen of reproach. “You need to be more careful with yourself, kiddo.”

John kisses him and tries for levity. “I’m merely staking my claim … and getting comfortable.”

“Okay,” Jedikiah grouses, more than ready too lighten up the mood, mock indignation written all over his face, “there is no way that this is even remotely comfortable for you, and this nonsense about _claiming_ –“

John’s face twists into a complicated kaleidoscope of emotion, and then he kisses him again. “I love you,” Jedikiah hears him whisper, and then again, “I love you – I love you.”

Hearing those words hurts almost as much as it elates him. He should be happy, and he _is_ , ecstatic even, but it doesn’t sound like John feels the same. His words sound like an admission of guilt instead of what they really are, and Jedikiah doesn’t know what to _do_ with that, apart from the obvious. “I love you, too, John.” He hears the hitch in John’s breathing, hears the little whimpering sound leaving his throat, and he wants to pull John closer to him, hold him as tight as he can, and doesn’t dare it. “What’s wrong?”

“Everybody knows,” John whispers, sounding desperate and young and far too helpless.

Jedikiah closes his eyes, dry swallows and takes a deep breath. “Are you ashamed? Would you rather … _not_ –“

“No!” John interrupts him so fast it leaves them both breathless. “No,” he says, a second time and much softer. “I love you, Jed. I … I need you. But … won’t Roger be – when he wakes up, won’t he be … disappointed?”

Jedikiah’s almost inclined to laugh. His brother has been out of the picture for years, and still his sensibilities govern John’s conscience more than anything else. “Maybe,” he allows. “Probably, even. Our relationship certainly isn’t one the general public would consider healthy – and Roger wasn’t _here_ for the more questionable stages of its development. Quite frankly, I don’t give a damn if he’s disappointed or not. He asked me to make you shoot him. I say we get a pass.”

“A pass,” John echoes, studies Jedikiah’s face. “… You’re angry at him.”

“Aren’t you?” Jedikiah asks, leaves his expression open for John to study. “He knew I would do anything he asked of me – knew you would do anything I asked of you. I’m reasonably certain he only meant it for the best, but that doesn’t change the fact that I was left to deal with the whole mess alone, that I lost you by doing what he asked of me … that I had to hurt so many people just for the sake of keeping up appearances, and all the while I was –“ Jedikiah stops, takes a deep breath. He doesn’t know how to say it. How to explain to John that most days he was so lost in his fake persona that he’d forgotten how to be himself. That some days he was so afraid of the Founder and his powers – that he felt so helpless – “He left me alone,” is all he comes up with.

John just looks at him for a while, then leans his forehead against Jedikiah’s. “We’re both so _broken_.”

Jedikiah smiles crookedly. “Let me teach you about [Kintsugi](http://de.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kintsugi) one of these days. The Japanese have made an art out of fixing broken things. With _gold_. It’s beautiful.”

He feels John smile back more than he sees it. “Are you telling me I’m beautiful, Jed?”

“You need to be told?” Jedikiah brushes a soft kiss to the corner of John’s mouth. “Very well. You’re beautiful, John.”

“Not right now I’m not,” John whispers.

“Always,” Jedikiah says with conviction. “Even if your hair has seen better days, I have to admit it.”

“I’m black and blue!”

“Colourful.”

“I’m a total mess.”

“Chicks dig the scars.”

John starts laughing and doesn’t stop for a while, even though his bouts of giggling are interspersed with painful groaning. He finally gains some composure, but his eyes still look happier than Jedikiah’s seen them for a while. “Oh God, I want a shower,” he sighs. “Tell me I can shower, Jed, I really want to.”

Jedikiah clears his throat. “Well … your wounds are mostly superficial, and if you’re ready to accept help, I guess you can … Do you want me to get –“

“You can help me, don’t be ridiculous,” John interrupts him. “You’ve seen me naked more than once.”

And just like that Jedikiah has to clear his throat again. “Yes. I know. I just thought that maybe –“

“I don’t want anyone else to help me,” John says softly. “You’ll do just fine.”

“Oh, I will – will I?” Jedikiah purses his lips and huffs. “Good to know.”

John blows him a kiss and then very slowly starts to move off of him. Jedikiah tries to help him as best as he can and then walks him over to the master bathroom adjoining the bedroom. “Try to move as little as possible, okay?”

“Oh, I’m trying,” John gripes at him. “You’ll have to pull down my shorts.”

Jedikiah raises an eyebrow at him. “I can do that. I have experience with that.”

John actually blushes. At least Jedikiah thinks he does. It’s difficult to tell under all the bruises.

“Just keep still,” he advises John, takes off John’s bandages and then goes down on one knee and helps him out of his shorts. He gets back up as smoothly as possible, tries to adopt a nonchalant expression and probably fails spectacularly.

John just keeps _looking_ at him.

“What?” Jedikiah asks.

“If you want to help,” John points out slowly, “you should probably get in there with me.”

“I don’t know what I was thinking and I’m very sorry I’m still dressed,” Jedikiah tells him earnestly. “I will remedy that immediately.”

He efficiently gets rid of his own clothes and then spends a somewhat stressful twenty minutes in the shower with John. The shower gel is unscented, so it doesn’t sting too bad, but John still flinches when Jedikiah comes too close to his more tender bruises. He won’t let him stop either, claims he _needs_ to feel clean after three days and nights in a dungeon, and since that is something Jedikiah can comprehend without lengthy explanation he bites his tongue and gets on with it.

It gets much easier once he’s done soaping John’s body and moves on to washing his hair. John simply puts his head back and closes his eyes, trusting and _beautiful_ , and Jedikiah takes care not to let any foam run into his eyes.

“I should feel guilty, shouldn’t I,” John says unexpectedly, Jedikiah’s fingers in his hair, gently massaging his scalp. “Being here with you.”

Jedikiah stops moving. “But you don’t?”

“No,” John admits. “I don’t.” Jedikiah can feel him hesitating. “I thought I’d never see you again, when … when he had me. He was telling me what he would do to you, should you come to rescue me, and I … I believed him. He _showed_ me. Made me watch inside my own head … all the different ways he’d planned out. It was horrible.”

Jedikiah doesn’t say anything, just quietly resumes massaging the shampoo into John’s hair, and John takes a deep breath. “I’m so glad he didn’t get to you.”

Thanking him for that would probably sound weird, and Jedikiah hesitates before he opens his mouth. “You know I would have gladly traded places with you?”

“Yes,” John answers, voice barely audible. “I know. And I’m glad you didn’t get the chance.”

Jedikiah washes out his hair and turns off the water. “Lets get you dry.”

He isn’t sure if John has started crying, and very carefully envelopes him in a towel when they get out of the shower. John lets him turn him whichever way he likes, perfectly docile, and once Jedikiah has dried his face and his hair, he’s certain that John _is_ crying. But it’s the noiseless, quiet kind, the one where John’s still fighting for control, doesn’t allow himself to let go and heal.

“It’s okay, kiddo,” Jedikiah whispers, leads John back into the bedroom and makes him sit on the bed. “You were strong for so long – just go ahead. Let it out.”

John looks up at him, eyes wet and red, tears trickling out the corners of his eyes. “I’m being ridiculous. It’s over. We’re fine now.”

“Not until you’re ready,” Jedikiah tells him, voice grave. “And I don’t know about you, but for me that will take quite a while.”

John’s eyes widen, and Jedikiah can only assume that understanding has finally hit him – that he doesn’t have to pretend any more, never again, not for anyone else and certainly not for Jedikiah. John takes a deep breath and then everything just spills out – tears and tremors, interspersed with breathless admissions of fear.

Jedikiah lets him cry in silence, lets his hands speak for him, dresses John’s wounds with ointment and clean bandages, and John’s body in a fresh set of pyjamas … puts him back to bed. “Do you want me to stay?” he asks – because usually, the answer may be a very empathic _Yes_ , but right now John is in shock, he was abused and beaten, psychologically tortured, and Jedikiah will not make the mistake of assuming one thing or the other just because it took John’s trauma some time to manifest.

The answer is Yes anyway. “I need you close,” John murmurs through his tears. “I need to feel you’re with me.”

“Okay,” Jedikiah replies, dresses himself and then gets into bed with John. “Here I am.”

John immediately turns towards him, pushes his face into Jedikiah’s neck, his beaten, bruised skin be damned. “He said he’d let me live – wouldn’t allow me to die,” Jedikiah hears him whisper. “He wanted me to live with the memories.”

Jedikiah squeezes his eyes shut. Doesn’t know what to say.

“And now I get to do just that,” John continues, barely audible, words swallowed up by Jedikiah’s skin. “I get to remember the day you took me out of foster care. I get to remember how you taught me to handle a gun. I get … I get to remember how it feels when you touch me … when you’re inside of me.” He moves closer to Jedikiah, and his lips brush against his neck. “And I’m so afraid that it’s all a lie, that he’s still here, that he’ll come back and take everything away from me.”

Cold terror spreads inside Jedikiah’s chest, circles around his heart and clutches. “He won’t. I promise you – he won’t.” Although he’s far too aware of their futility, the words are out before he can stop them.

“I felt so _helpless_ against him,” John continues as if Jedikiah hasn’t spoken. “He didn’t even bother to take my powers. He just … He was so _strong_. I never thought I’d say this about anyone, but I’m glad you killed him. Maybe I shouldn’t be – but I’m really glad.”

“You’re allowed to be,” Jedikiah soothes him. “He was a terrible man. What you’re feeling is only natural.” John’s throat makes a hushed, doubtful sound, but he doesn’t contradict him, and Jedikiah allows himself to be cautiously hopeful. “Feeling like this doesn’t make you a bad person, John. It only makes you human. It doesn’t make me love you any less.”

It feels freeing, being able to say the words, knowing they are welcome – and feeling John moving just that little bit closer towards him when he says them is even better.

“Can I touch you?”

The question stuns Jedikiah for a heartbeat or two. He can’t be sure he’s really heard it although it was spoken directly against his skin, although he feels John’s breath, humid and warm, making him shiver. He needs a moment before he can answer. “Of course. Always.”

John actually thanks him.

Then he moves away, brings some distance between them, and gently pushes Jedikiah on his back, draws the comforter off. Jedikiah lets him, watches John’s face and then his hands, watches them travel over his chest, over the buttons of his pyjama top, opening them one by one.

John’s movements are slow and deliberate; he watches intently what he’s doing, takes in every revealed inch of skin before he touches it. His fingertips are warm and rough, thoroughly cataloguing, and Jedikiah gets goose bumps, bites his lower lip to hold in a startled moan when they brush over his right nipple.

John looks up at him then, eyes smiling, even while the corners of his mouth are turned into a frown. “Sorry.” He lets his hand splay out over Jedikiah’s stomach, unthreatening, almost protective.

Jedikiah tries to get his breathing under control. “It’s okay.”

Now John’s mouth joins the smile in his eyes. “To you, everything I do is okay.”

Jedikiah smiles back at him, fond and helpless. “You’re only noticing this now?”

John huffs and continues mapping out Jedikiah’s chest, his arms, and then his hands. He finishes with lacing their fingers together and resting his head on Jedikiah’s shoulder. “You’re very real,” he tells him solemnly.

Jedikiah brushes a kiss to his forehead. “Always have been.”

“Yes.” John’s fingers start travelling over Jedikiah’s skin again, sure and steady, with a calm intent that sets Jedikiah’s blood on fire.

“John,” he says, a warning in his tone, draws the name out until it’s a term of endearment. “We’re both too battered for –“ John makes an impatient noise and gently buries his teeth in the skin above Jedikiah’s right pectoral. Jedikiah amends his statement. “Okay. Maybe not us both. Maybe only you. You are too battered. I wouldn’t even know how to _hold_ you, not to mention how to –“

“You’re holding me now,” John mumbles. “But I guess I see your point.” He looks at Jedikiah through his lashes, eyes incredibly blue. “I love you.”

It is quite probable that Jedikiah’s chest will never _not_ constrict when hearing the words, that his breathing will always come to a stuttering halt, and his heart leap up to his throat. As visions for the future go, there could be bleaker ones.

Jedikiah is quite content with the one he has.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be advised: Everything coming after this is fluff. There _might_ be sprinkles of angst in between because that's just how John and Jedikiah work when confronted with, well, reality, but if left to themselves, they will FLUFF. I can't stop them, I don't even want to. I am _convinced_ these two have an endless capacity for making each other happy, so I let them do just that.
> 
> So if you're here for the angst and the heartbreak you might as well stop reading and pretend that this is the end.
> 
> This was a public service announcement, you may now continue with your day. I hope it's a nice one.


	10. I Blame all my Happiness on You

They wait three days before attempting to rouse Roger from his coma. Jedikiah assists Marla in getting out the bullet that’s still embedded in Roger’s chest; Stephen and Cara lock powers to draw his consciousness to the surface. It goes well, and Roger wakes up, just to have a heart-attack three minutes later. He survives that as well.

John breaks down crying as soon as he’s stable, and Jedikiah is so busy holding him that it takes him half an hour to notice his own tears. Marla, instead of sending them out of the room, merely tells them to pick a corner and stay there while she gets her husband comfortable, assisted by her sons.

Stephen is keeping an iron lock on any and all of his emotions, and Luca is eerily calm, doesn’t say a word until his brother asks him if he’s okay. “No,” he says then, deadpan. “Of course not.”

He hasn’t taken well to the news of his family’s deception, won’t let anyone hug him until his mother tries to hide the fact she’s started crying as well, and he marches over to take her into his arms. Stephen stomps right after him.

Cara has picked her own corner, is uneasily watching, arms crossed in front of her chest. Russell hasn’t come back since he left to free his brethren, but Cara comes back every single day. Jedikiah’s not sure if she’d be offended if he offered her one of the empty rooms of his house, at least until she finds something that’s not on the same ground level as the city’s sewer system.

“Will he be okay?” she asks, the only one in the room standing all by herself, and Jedikiah takes pity on her and gently nudges John into her direction.

“Yeah,” comes Marla’s voice from the depths of her sons’ embrace. “He’s strong. He’ll live.”

 

Cara does not move in with them. Charlotte does. The reason Russell hasn’t come back for three days is that he was busy convincing his fellow lair-dwellers to go home to their families if they could, and scramble for alternative housing for them if they couldn’t.

Charlotte is the only one left, the only one without family, too young to make it on her own. Russell mentions this the day after Roger’s awakening, when he finally comes over for his cookie-fix.

John merely looks at Jedikiah, doesn’t have to say anything, and Jedikiah folds like a house of cards in heavy rain. “Bring her here,” he tells Russell, his eyes fixed on John’s. “I have a horde of grandparents for her to meet.”

John smiles, wide and joyful. His bruises are healing, yellow and green now instead of black and blue. He throws himself at Jedikiah to kiss him breathless, and Russell leaves the room, faking retching noises, proclaiming he’ll be back in ten minutes with a little girl they better not traumatize more than she already is.

Charlotte is delightful, shy and sweet, and at first Jedikiah can’t look at her without feeling sick with himself that he allowed her to endure the horrors of the Citadel, that he intended to send her back to that place, simply because he was too afraid to help her – to help anyone but himself.

Either she doesn’t recognize him – and since he never really came near her that might even be possible – or she takes her cue from John, tolerates Jedikiah’s presence because John doesn’t give her any indication why she shouldn’t. The two of them are unbearably lovely together, John gentle and kind, her big brother in everything but blood, and Charlotte increasingly carefree once she realises that this is her life now, in this house, this home, together with John and Jedikiah.

Living with her is easy – despite her nightmares, because they all have those – much easier than coming clean to Roger could ever be. Marla has taken him home as soon as it was safe to do so, and for two weeks they visit him regularly without telling him anything. When they do, he’s just as judgemental as Jedikiah feared he would be, condemns Jedikiah out of hand, tells him how wrong he is for what he’s doing to John – and John hits him, right in the face.

They leave directly afterwards.

John is quiet on the drive home, chewing on his lower lip and staring out the side window of Jedikiah’s old Chevy. Jedikiah looks at him from time to time, takes in his angry profile, and eventually clears his throat. “You okay there, kiddo?”

“He was an ass to you,” John grinds out, his words slashing through the quiet. “Blamed everything on you, talked about seduction like I --- He treated me like some mindless, brainless idiot who doesn’t know what he’s doing! How _dare_ he?”

“Wow,” Jedikiah says, and very carefully starts driving five mph below the speed limit. “I knew you were angry, but I didn’t know you were this angry.”

For a while John’s quiet again, then he turns around in his seat to look at him. “It’s just that I expected …” He trails off, sadness and frustration thick in the air between them.

Jedikiah swallows and briefly returns his gaze before concentrating on traffic once more. “You expected him to say that he was sorry for what he put you through?”

“Us,” John corrects him, sounding annoyed. “And yes. But all he does is schmooze his family – and that’s okay, I guess, but I –“

“John,” Jedikiah interrupts him softly, “he’s not the saviour you put him up to be. He never was. He’s just a guy – slightly more powerful than the rest of you, but in the end, just a guy. Trust me, I grew up with him. I know.”

“I shouldn’t have hit him,” John murmurs, suddenly contrite. “He’s recuperating.”

“So are you,” Jedikiah points out and expertly manoeuvres the Chevy onto their driveway. “And to be quite honest, he deserved it. He can be a self-satisfied jerk when he’s not careful.”

John snorts and gets out of the car, and for the moment they don’t talk about it any more. Charlotte greets them at the door, positively leaps into John’s arms, and then leans over for Jedikiah to kiss her cheek, which he does with perfect decorum. “Hello princess. How did you fare with Melinda – was she any trouble for you?”

“None at all,” Charlotte informs him solemnly. “She was really nice. We made cookies.”

Jedikiah doesn’t say anything, merely smiles and puts his hand on John’s shoulder to steer him into the house; but if Melinda does not plan to take those cookies home with her, they’re going to have _words_.

They’re drowning in cookies. There’s no need for baking for at least a month, possibly two.

“You’re home early,” Melinda says when they enter the kitchen. “Did something happen?”

Neither of them answer, and she raises a brow. “I see. And I’m not taking those cookies home with me, Jedikiah, you can forget that. Charlotte decorated them – they’re art.”

Jedikiah thinks very loud, very unflattering thoughts at her, and she grins. “Call me when you need someone to look after the Queen Regent again – I’m going to leave you alone now. Don’t eat all the cookies at once.”

“That would kill us,” Jedikiah tells her dryly and escorts her to the front door. “Anyway – thank you for babysitting.”

“You’re welcome, honey. That little girl is a delight.” She goes up to her tiptoes to brush a kiss to his cheek and proceeds to glide down the driveway and into the early afternoon.

Jedikiah closes the door behind her and goes back into the kitchen, where Charlotte’s in the process of making John a sandwich. “Do you want one, too?” she asks Jedikiah, directs an inquiring gaze at him over her shoulder, blond curls framing her face – and Jedikiah automatically looks at John who’s leaving the distinct impression he’s going to shower her in kisses any second now.

“I could eat,” Jedikiah replies, and walks over to lean against the kitchen counter next to John. They watch her prepare the food in attentive silence, hand her extra lettuce when she demands it, and move the feast to the living room once she’s finished.

“Disney?” Jedikiah inquires, gets positive reactions from both Charlotte and John, and puts in one of the DVDs from his growing collection. Melinda is a terrible enabler.

He sits down on the sofa, Charlotte a solid barrier between him and John, and resigns himself to spending the next hour of his life being entertained by talking – and possibly singing – animals. It’s no hardship. He likes Disney. He could enjoy their movies even more if they would kindly refrain from killing the parents. The Lion King almost turned into a total disaster. And Charlotte wasn’t the problem.

“Why are you both so angry at Roger?” Charlotte asks innocently just as some rude Incan king is very deservedly turned into a llama, and Jedikiah pulls a guilty face, squints down at her.

“We’re being obvious again, are we?”

“Not as much as with the kissing thoughts,” she says to John’s never-ending discomfort, “but yes. John is really bad at hiding his feelings.”

“And we love him for that,” Jedikiah says with conviction.

“Yes,” she agrees, naturally, “we do.”

John hides his face in his hands, and Jedikiah puts his arm over the back of the couch to grab his shoulder and lend him moral support.

“Well?” she prompts, lifting both eyebrows and looking exactly like Melinda. It’s rather horrible.

“Erm,” Jedikiah stalls, casts his eyes heavenward and takes a deep breath. He won’t lie to her. He’s trying to get rid of that nasty habit. “Roger doesn’t really like it that me and John … enjoy kissing each other.”

“I don’t like that either,” Charlotte discloses, matter-of-fact, “but it’s none of my business. Plus, it makes you two really happy. Doesn’t Roger know that? Haven’t you told him?”

John lifts his head out of his hands at that and looks at Jedikiah. “Actually … we haven’t. Not in so many words.”

Jedikiah scrunches his eyebrows at him.

“He was asleep for quite a while,” Charlotte muses between them. “Maybe his brain is still a bit slow. He’ll come around. He likes you. Both of you. I can tell.”

“Okay,” Jedikiah says, always ready to bow to her superior understanding – and the expression of pure adoration gracing John’s features when he looks at the girl. “We’ll wait for him to unthaw.”

“Like Steve Rogers!” Charlotte says.

“Like Steve Rogers,” Jedikiah agrees, ponders the idea. “But not as handsome.”

John grunts at him, and Jedikiah shoots him a look. “What, I have eyes.”

John grunts again.

“Bad at hiding his feelings,” Charlotte comments.

“Very bad,” Jedikiah agrees.

John eats his sandwich and refuses to look at either one of them.

 

Roger does unthaw, and quite quickly at that. He comes for a visit with Marla, Stephen and Luca – lets the boys play in the garden with Charlotte. Whatever they’re doing involves an awful lot of exited shrieking. John’s looking twitchy about it, and Jedikiah tries his best not to find his overprotectiveness adorable.

They’re in the kitchen; Roger’s sitting at the table with a cup of coffee John made him, face brooding. Marla’s standing behind him, hands on his shoulders. It’s obvious who instigated this visit, and Jedikiah is, quite frankly, surprised.

Marla doesn’t even _like_ him. But she likes John, and that’s all the explanation he could ever need.

“Talk to them,” she urges her husband when Roger tries and fails to hide behind his coffee cup. “Talk to them right now. I have enough of this nonsense. We’re a family. Act like it.”

John makes a snorting noise somewhere between laughter and disdain, and Roger looks up at him, tries for a smile and ends up looking repentant. “You’re happy? Happy with … with my brother?”

As adequate as it might seem, Jedikiah can’t help but think that that’s a singularly stupid question.

John raises both eyebrows. “You think we’re doing it just for kicks?” He crosses both arms in front of his chest, and Jedikiah automatically moves closer to him. “Of course I’m happy with him.”

Jedikiah’s heart performs a complicated manoeuvre that leaves Jedikiah feeling a little bit breathless, and Roger swallows, lowers his gaze. “Yeah. Well. He always was your favourite.”

“Roger,” Marla says in a warning tone, “you’re being a jerk again.”

“No,” John says, voice quiet, a smile lurking in the corners of his eyes, pulling at his mouth. “He’s right.” He looks at Jedikiah, fond and just a little bit guilty. “We both know how weird it is. We certainly know how _wrong_ it must look. But Jedikiah wasn’t the one who started it – I was. He … he just _let me_. He didn’t push me away, and I … I feel safe with him. I had to do without that feeling for long enough to know how precious that is.”

“You could feel safe with him without –“ Roger starts, bites his lip and heaves a heavy sigh. “Sorry. Being a jerk again.”

“Yes, you are,” Jedikiah agrees. “And can I just clarify that I did not _let_ you do anything, my dear John – I’m responsible for my actions, and I’m ecstatic that they led to us having this relationship. Because it _feels_ right; and this is the last time I’m prepared to justify myself.”

Roger looks at him, looks him in the eyes for a long time and finally nods. “I understand. Just … give me some time to get used to it? Please?”

Jedikiah shrugs his shoulders. “Of course. I never expected you to jump on the fun train right away.”

Roger favours him with a sardonic smile. “I never was one for doing that anyway.”

They grin at each other, and Marla clears her throat and straightens. “Well done boys. Now someone get me some cookies. I was told there’d be cookies in this house. I want them.”

John immediately springs into action, produces three cookie jars to place them on the table in front of Roger, and she sighs delightedly and sits down on a free chair. “Thank you, John. Could I get a cup of coffee to go with them?”

“I’ll brew a pot,” Jedikiah offers, looks at his brother. “You’ll have another cup with us, won’t you?”

The patio door opens before Roger can answer, and Charlotte storms in. “Jed! Jed, can we have hot chocolate? Stephen doesn’t believe that you’ll make some because it isn’t even autumn yet – but you will, won’t you?”

“Sure I will,” Jedikiah agrees immediately, and looks at Stephen who’s hovering in the open door. “If only to prove Stephen wrong.”

Stephen sticks his tongue out at him; Charlotte’s answering smile is blinding. She’s still far too grateful for any sign of affection – for anything that isn’t tainted with fear or pain. “Thank you!”

“You’re very welcome. Do you want a cookie while you’re at it?”

She does want one – as does Luca who still looks as though he doesn’t entirely belong into their midst. Jedikiah knows how that feels and very emphatically urges him to eat as many cookies as he likes while he gets the milk out of the fridge.

“If we’re having hot chocolate I don’t need coffee,” Marla decides and gets comfortable on her chair, turns it around to put her legs up and over Roger’s lap. “Cocoa’s much better.”

Roger agrees with a smile and grabs her ankles, holds on to her with casual affection. Jedikiah placidly gets another litre of milk out of the pantry.

“This is disgustingly domestic,” Stephen comments when Jedikiah asks him to hand him the chocolate and cinnamon out of a cabinet. “I love it.” His grin is wide and pleased, thoroughly genuine. “Can I bring Astrid over sometime? Because let me tell you – as soon as she sees John with Charlotte, she’s going to swoon. I almost swooned myself to be quite honest.”

“You can certainly bring her over,” Jedikiah murmurs, concentrates on pouring milk into a pan. “But there’ll be no swooning of any kind.”

“Astrid’s nice,” Charlotte proclaims, sensibly ignoring the subject of swooning. “I’d like to see her again.”

“Then it’s settled,” Jedikiah promises her. “She’s coming by.”

He becomes aware of his brother’s gaze resting heavily on his neck, and turns. “What?”

“Nothing,” Roger replies, “you’re just … surprisingly good at all this.” He gestures with his free hand, encompassing any and all inhabitants of the kitchen, and John snorts, murmurs “Surprisingly” under his breath, implying that for him it isn’t surprising at all.

Jedikiah huffs. “Yeah. Well. I always was very adaptive.” He turns back to the stove, heats the milk in the pan and prepares the cocoa just like his grandmother taught him a lifetime ago. Charlotte stays by his side, takes in what he’s doing with wide, intelligent eyes, and he knows that the next time she wants cocoa, she’ll be perfectly able to make it herself – but still, she’ll be asking if she’s allowed, if it’s okay for her to have some.

Just like John sometimes still asks if it’s okay if he kisses him.

They’ll learn, Jedikiah knows. They’re both immensely gifted. They just need some time.

 

Lying in bed that night, Jedikiah’s not entirely certain if he should mention it again: That John seems to think he instigated their relationship all by himself – that Jedikiah was more or less a passive bystander who merely let it happen.

He watches John undress, lets his eyes roam over every new expanse of skin, most of it healed and free from blemish by now, and clears his throat. “You do know I made a conscious choice to be with you, don’t you?”

John, in the process of pulling his shirt over his head, freezes for a few seconds, then discards the shirt and folds it, hangs it over the chair standing next to the bed. “I know that you love me,” he says, voice almost blank, “and I know that you tend to … make unusual sacrifices for the people you love.”

Jedikiah stares at him, lungs locking up, trapping every ounce of air in them. “Do you really think that’s what this is for me – a sacrifice?”

“… No.” John draws out the vowel, sure and definite – shakes his head and smiles tentatively. “I think we need each other so bad it’s gotten a little out of control.”

Just like that Jedikiah’s chest expands and he’s able to breathe again. John looks soft and touchable in the light from the bedside table lamp … _looks happy_ , and Jedikiah will never get used to idea that he’s at least partially responsible for that.

“I think control is severely overrated,” he says slowly, allows his own happiness to line his features and show on his face. “I for one plan on giving it up more often. Surely, it’ll only do me good.”

John’s smile turns into a grin. “If you’re trying to be subtle –“

“I’m not trying anything. I am sharing my plans for the future with you.”

John discards his jeans and gets into bed, pulls the comforter over himself. “And do you plan on waiting for Charlotte to be all grown up and out of the house before realizing any of those plans, or –“

“She reads minds,” Jedikiah cuts him short. It’s a fact. It’s a fact that preys on his conscience whenever his mind starts to drift, and he starts to dream about soft skin and tight heat, when he starts to fantasize about kissing John in a way that will leave them both breathless and _stupid_.

“So do I,” John tells him dryly, as if on cue. “And your mind would severely benefit from having sex with me again. As would my own. You can touch me, Jed, I promise I won’t break.”

“I’ve touched you,” Jedikiah reminds him, cheeks a little flushed, voice a bit hoarse. “Don’t act like I haven’t.”

“Mh-hm,” John admits and slithers on top of Jedikiah, knees left and right of his hips. “You’ve touched me – but never in a way that would suggest you really wanted to.”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous,” Jedikiah grouses and puts both his hands on John’s hips. “I always want to touch you. What I don’t want is to rush or hurt you – which you know perfectly well _being a mind reader_.”

John grins and leans forward. “Yeah, I know.”

“Then what are you doing complaining about non-existent problems?” Jedikiah smirks back, brushing a kiss to John’s lips once he’s close enough. John instantly deepens the kiss, adds just enough pressure to force a surprised little moan out of Jedikiah.

Jedikiah’s eyes close, and he sighs, welcomes John’s advances with his whole body. It’s true that he was overly cautious during the last few weeks, that he didn’t dare touch John too firmly, fearing it would evoke unpleasant memories. His hands feel unusually heavy on John’s hips, clumsy and too hot, and he strokes his thumbs over the soft skin, hopes John doesn’t pick up on how nervous he is.

John doesn’t seem to.

“I’m ready,” he whispers between kisses, already breathless, “Jed, I promise I’m ready.”

He presses up to Jedikiah, a lean line of heat, and it’s not like they haven’t done _anything_ during the last few weeks – but nothing like this. Nothing that came even close to John acting like –

“I need you inside me, Jed, please.”

Jedikiah groans, and his hips snap up and against John’s, leaving no doubt as to what exactly those words do to him. “John, I swear to God –“

“You never were particularly religious,” John reminds him, even more breathless than before, rubbing against Jedikiah with ruthless determination. “Please, Jed, I need you to touch me.”

“I’m already touching you, kiddo,” Jedikiah whispers – but he obediently moves his hands, strokes John’s shorts off his hips and grabs his ass.

John moans and then whimpers, and his body goes limp. “Oh God, I love it when you do that.” He slumps forward, rests his forehead on Jedikiah’s shoulder, eyes closed. “Do it again?”

Jedikiah flexes his fingers, lets them dig into the firm flesh, hyper-aware of John’s hot breath on his naked skin. “Like this?”

“Yeah,” John breathes out and licks his lips, muscles twitching under Jedikiah’s grip, “yeah, just like this.” He presses his face into the crook of Jedikiah’s neck, panting. “Can you … can you bring me off like this? With … with just your fingers? And … and then fuck me afterwards like you did the last time?”

“Jesus, kiddo, one of these days you’re going to dirty-talk me into a heart attack.” Jedikiah spreads his hands wider over John’s ass and lets his fingers brush over his hole; the answering shiver working its way through John makes him feverish with want.

“Hn, sorry,” John whispers, not sounding sorry at all. He doesn’t stop moving, doesn’t stop rubbing his growing erection against Jedikiah’s stomach, and when he lifts his head to kiss him again, Jedikiah doesn’t even try keep control over himself or the situation. His fingers brush over John’s hole once more, not at all tentative but _greedy_ , tease the tight muscle until it starts to twitch and quiver. John moans into their kiss and starts to suck on Jedikiah’s tongue.

His arms are around Jedikiah’s neck, strong and sure, are holding on to him while he moves his hips back and forth, and Jedikiah realizes that John wants him just as much as he wants John – there’s no need to be nervous.

He’s still careful, because he’ll always be when it comes to John, opens him up with practised, experienced ease, fingers slick with lube. John kisses him all the way through it, leaves smears of pre-come on Jedikiah’s stomach and then comes all over his chest.

“One of these days you’ll have to do that to me,” he whispers into John’s ear, feels John twitch against him, cling to him all the harder.

“I’d like that,” John whispers back, breathless and stupid with bliss, and then immediately kisses him again.

Jedikiah shivers and holds him close, knowing all too well that he doesn’t deserve John at all.

 

They make it work, somehow. Jedikiah gets a job as a college professor of all things, teaching genetics with a healthy dose of ethics to go with, while John stays at home with Charlotte, working a tech support hotline.

They home-school the girl (and John, too, to an extent) because there’s just no other option until Charlotte has caught up on her education. Weeks pass with only a few cold-war flashbacks, with nightmares and minor accidents in the kitchen, with Luca turning to Jedikiah when he just can’t get over the fact that his brother has super-powers and he doesn’t.

They get a rabbit – Charlotte rescues it from Karl, who really doesn’t like animals burrowing in his garden – and then a puppy because that’s just the natural progression. Charlotte dubs her Angel; she’s a short, sturdy animal, just as blonde as the rest of the family – a fact Stephen comments on with reliable regularity. Astrid rolls her eyes at him each and every single time.

Nothing of particular import happens – until the doorbell rings one rainy Sunday afternoon. John goes to open it, and when he calls to Jedikiah to come – _please, right now_ – he sounds urgent, almost desperate.

Jedikiah more or less runs to the door.

It’s Morgan, six months pregnant and radiant with it. For a few seconds Jedikiah can only stare at her, his relieve at seeing her after all this time rendering him absolutely speechless. She smiles at him. “You look well.”

Jedikiah’s tongue feels to big for his mouth.

“I’m …” John bites his lip, eyes cast downward, “I’m going to … leave you two alone. Astrid asked me to visit her anyway. I’ll take Charlotte.” He moves and turns away, and Jedikiah shoots Morgan a short apologetic glance and follows.

“You don’t have to leave.”

“Yes, I do,” John replies, still staring at the floor. “I’d only be in the way.”

Jedikiah draws his eyebrows together. “Of what?”

John still doesn’t look up at him. “Just … just let me leave, okay? I’ll … I’ll be back around seven.”

“I … okay,” Jedikiah says, because he’s too surprised to say anything else. But once John is gone, once he has taken Charlotte and left the house with her, he’s overcome by a dread so strong he feels physically sick.

He tries to hide it from Morgan, leads her into the kitchen and treats her to cookies and hot chocolate – it’s autumn now. John wanted to make pumpkin cheesecake this afternoon.

“This is nice,” she decides, leans back into her chair with an audible sigh of relief. “You have a beautiful home, Jedikiah.”

Jedikiah stares at her face, then at her belly, then at her face again. Her pregnancy hasn’t changed her at all – she still looks just like he remembers her; independent and strong, an amused slant to her lips, always just a little bit smarter than anyone else. “It’s a boy,” she tells him, the slant more pronounced than ever, puts both hands over the noticeable bulge under her dress.

He still doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t want to admit that he’s missed her – if only for the comfort being himself around her offered him.

Her smile falters. “John didn’t tell you I intended to come back?”

He takes a hold of himself, then, clears his throat and tries to smile. “Yeah, he did. I can’t say that I expected it, though – after … after everything that happened.”

He still can’t quite believe it’s real, that she really is sitting in his kitchen, placid and serene, pregnant with his child.

She looks at him, long and searching. “You were … _so afraid_ when your hands were around my neck. That was what almost suffocated me. That’s why I didn’t try to push you off. I was just as frozen as you were.”

“I hurt you,” he says, “and I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that. You only wanted to help.”

She nods and smiles again, brushes the heavy moment off just like she’s always done in the past, looks around. “There’s much happiness in this house. Is John living with you now? Have you two … reconciled?”

He could lie to her. Put on a show and tell her a story. But he won’t do that to her, and he certainly won’t do it to John.

“He’s my partner in crime now,” he says, voice gentle, careful, “… in everything.”

Understanding glides over her features much faster than he’d have anticipated, and she smiles a little wider. “He always was terribly conflicted over his feelings for you – wasn’t he?”

Jedikiah clears his throat again. “I … wouldn’t know about that.”

She starts to eat her cookie, takes a sip of hot chocolate and sighs. “Don’t you have any questions?”

“I … wouldn’t like to presume,” Jedikiah tells her honestly. “I am grateful enough that you showed up at all. I don’t … I don’t have the right. I never had.”

She grins, tries to hide it behind her cup and fails. “Living with John has surely done wonders for your character. I always thought you were very … adaptable in that regard. Always just as good as the company you kept.”

He wants to tell her that she’s just as good and doesn’t. Because for her he couldn’t be better, couldn’t be what she needed and deserved. “Are you … going to stay in the city?” he finally asks, because he doesn’t know what else to say.

She nods. “I will. I won’t have my boy growing up without a proper family – and something tells me he’ll have that in abundance if I allow him regular visits with his Dad.”

Something in Jedikiah breaks at her words, splits open right inside his chest. “Morgan –“

“I never planned to hide him from you,” she soothes, reaches out and puts her hand over his. “Don’t cry, you old softie.”


	11. And I’ll Never Stop Blaming You

Morgan has been gone for hours when John comes home that night. Jedikiah’s sitting in an armchair opposite the cold fireplace in the living room, having long ago abandoned the idea of trying to read to distract himself; thus he’s immediately aware of John’s return – gets up with a start when he hears the front door open and close.

It’s closer to eight than to seven, and John is alone, hasn’t brought Charlotte home with him. Jedikiah trusts John, and he’s not a worrier per se, but in the context of the day he’s had, he’s anxious to the point of throwing up, right until he lays eyes on John and sees that he’s alright.

“I left Charlotte with Astrid and her parents,” John tells him before Jedikiah has the chance to ask him any questions. “I didn’t want her to –“ He cuts off when he gets a good look at Jedikiah’s face, and his eyes widen. “What happened?”

“What happened?” Jedikiah gets his hands on John’s shoulders and pulls him into a hug. “You’re late. You didn’t bring Charlotte back home with you. That happened.” John’s body is tense, doesn’t relax into the physical contact as it normally would, and Jedikiah himself is so on edge by now it almost hurts. “Why did you leave so sudden, kiddo – what’s going on?”

“I just wanted you give you and Morgan some privacy,” John replies, voice devoid of emotion. He steps away from Jedikiah, stares at the floor again, just like he did this afternoon. “I figured you had … had a lot to talk about.”

Jedikiah looks at him, looks at his profile and wishes he knew what’s going on inside his head. John looks pale and unhappy, _miserable_ , and it hurts Jedikiah to see him like this, worries him. “It wasn’t all that much,” he says softly. “She didn’t stay long.”

“But she’s coming back.” John says it as if he’s stating a fact, as if he’s certain, and Jedikiah lifts a surprised eyebrow.

“She told you?”

John’s answering smile is the saddest thing Jedikiah’s ever seen. “No. But her eyes when she looked at you were telling enough. When is she moving in? How … how long do I have?”

His stomach’s dropping out and into ice-cold water, ice crystallizing up his legs, freezing him into place, and Jedikiah stares, uncomprehending. “What?”

John smiles at him again, wistful and with a quiet understanding Jedikiah has no idea what to do with. “You don’t have to soften the blow for me, Jed – just tell me.”

“John …” Jedikiah swallows, tries to get his mouth to co-operate, “Morgan’s not moving in – you’re not moving out. I … Did you think Morgan and I would get back together – just like that?”

“She’s pregnant with your baby,” John says, a stubborn tilt to his chin. “You always wanted to be a father. Don’t act like you don’t.”

Somehow, Jedikiah feels, these are entirely the wrong surroundings for what’s happening. This is their home, the place where they found each other … it shouldn’t be where they lose each other again. He’s never been this cold inside the house before, has never noticed the smell of slightly stale air and decay.

He takes a deep breath and tries to collect his thoughts, tries to understand why John is acting like this. Until he does, he might as well just tell the truth. “Me wanting to be a father doesn’t mean I’d replace you with Morgan as soon as I get the chance. I love you, John; I wouldn’t leave you for anything.”

John finally looks at him, defeated and tired. “Not even for your own son? He’s all over your thoughts, Jed, I can feel it – and I never was very good at that stuff.”

“Don’t,” Jedikiah tells him, caught between guilt and desperation, “please don’t use my emotions against me. Of course I think about him – until today I thought I’d never get to meet him! But what Morgan and I had is _over_ , please believe me.”

“But,” John stammers out, eyes wide and overwhelmed in his pale face, “but I don’t want to be the reason you don’t get what you want!”

He really means it, is the saddest thing. He really believes he’d never have a chance –believes that the blood-ties between Jedikiah and his son will always be stronger; believes that the ties that bind him to Jedikiah will just snap and let him fall now that there’s … competition. Jedikiah doesn’t know if he’s the one to blame for this misconception, but he still doesn’t hesitate to disband it. “ _You_ are what I want, don’t you get it?” His voice is soft, feels raw coming out of his throat. “It’s always been you, one way or another.”

His words seem to echo through the room, and when they fade away, they take all the other sounds with them. John’s eyes are still wide, and now they look at Jedikiah with an expression that’s far too old and entirely new all at once.

“You didn’t know,” Jedikiah whispers, almost against his own will. “You thought I was … that I was _settling_ for you – is that it? That I would want you only until I found something better?”

“No.” John shakes his head, tears in his eyes and in his voice. “No, I know you wouldn’t do that – I know. But … but he’s your _baby_ , and babies are always the ones who are wanted more … the – the ones the … the older and _used_ kids are traded for.”

“Oh, kiddo …” Jedikiah moves towards him, and this time John turns into the hug with a helpless sob. “I’m not going to trade you in, okay? Not for anything. You’re my family, and I love you – nothing’s ever going to change that.”

He doesn’t even know how to broach the subject of John referring to himself as an unwanted child in this scenario, and he’s not sure he wants to. This is John feeling threatened by Morgan just as much as he’s feeling threatened by an unborn baby, and given time he’ll hopefully come to understand that he doesn’t need to feel threatened at all.

John clings to him with both hands, fists them into the fabric of Jedikiah’s pullover until it groans against the strain. “I didn’t know what to do,” he sobs, presses his face into the crook of Jedikiah’s neck. “She showed up and you both looked so happy seeing each other … I … I just didn’t know what to do …”

“Shht, I understand, it’s okay,” Jedikiah murmurs and pulls John closer to his chest, “I’ve got you, kiddo, it’s okay. You’re home now, you’re with me, we’ll figure out what to do.”

John nods and lifts his head, brushes a tentative kiss to Jedikiah’s lips, shaking and too hot. “I’m sorry I worried you. Do you … do you want me to get Charlotte?”

“No, leave her be.” He lifts his hand and gently cups John’s cheek. “It’s late … she’s probably in bed by now.”

John immediately leans into the touch, his lashes flutter close, and his lips part. “I’m so stupid …”

“Please don’t say that – you’re not stupid. You never were stupid. You’re the smartest guy I know.” Jedikiah lets his thumb drag over John’s cheekbone, back and forth, tries to find the right words. “You’re sensitive and caring – afraid of losing what you love, and that’s not stupid, that’s human nature.”

John’s breath hitches and his cheeks colour, and he pushes his hips forward, a quiet, desperate intent behind the movement. “Can we … can we go to bed?”

Jedikiah bites his lip and swallows. “You want me to distract you? Is that it? Shouldn’t we rather … talk about it?”

John presses up closer to him, keeps his eyes closed and takes a deep breath. “Talk about what? That I can’t decide what I’m more afraid of – losing you to Morgan or to her child? That I’m so twisted that I still see you as a father figure despite everything that’s happened? I … I don’t want to talk about that, Jed.”

“John, if you … if you can’t … if you’d rather never have sex with me again, then we can do that. We don’t have to have that kind of relationship –“

“Me _not_ wanting to have sex with you really isn’t the problem,” John interrupts him quietly. “When I’m with you … it … it makes me feel whole. But when I think about what we’re doing, what the fact that I enjoy you fucking me so much says about me –“

“And what does it say about me?” Jedikiah cuts in, voice hoarse. “I’m too old for you, too wicked, I was your father, and I betrayed you – and now I have you in my bed and I love every second of it. What does that say about me? What conclusion should we draw from this, other than that I should be locked away?”

“It’s not your fault,” John whispers. “I started it.”

“And I perpetuated it, and here we are. All I want to know is whether you’re happy with me, John – and if you’re not, I need you to tell me what I have to do to _make_ you happy. I’ll do it, whatever it is … even if it takes me out of the picture.”

John startles, and finally opens his eyes to look at him. “Please, Jed, please don’t leave me. I don’t want you to leave. I am happy with you. I … It’s just that sometimes I think I really shouldn’t.” Tears are clinging to his lashes, but he smiles, brave and self-sacrificing. Then he bites his lip, looks at Jedikiah through those damn lashes. “Please, take me to bed?”

“Okay,” Jedikiah whispers, and leans in to kiss him, teasing and too deep. John’s surprised moan gets swallowed up by Jedikiah’s lips, and his hands scrabble for purchase, fingers digging into the back of Jedikiah’s pullover. Jedikiah doesn’t know whether this is the right thing to do, all he knows is that it is what John asked for.

So he takes him upstairs and undresses him, keeps still when John hastens to rid him of his own clothing, and takes him to bed. “You’re sure?” he asks, once he has John stretched out on the sheets, trembling under his touch and ready to go.

John licks his lips and nods, closes his eyes. “It’s pretty much the only thing I’m sure about.”

“Okay,” Jedikiah whispers again, leans over John and kisses him. “As long as you’re sure.”

He takes John apart with his mouth and with his tongue, uses his hands and fingers – and then he prepares himself for John, opens himself up. John watches him wide-eyed and breathless, biting his lip, eager and greedy. “Does it – do you like it?”

Jedikiah briefly closes his eyes and nods, can’t hold back the tiny whimper escaping his throat. “Yeah, I … it feels really good. Next time you’re going to do it for me, okay?”

He opens his eyes just in time to see John nod his head. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

It’s been years since Jedikiah last did this, and never, ever with anyone he trusted as much as he trusts John. Little bolts of pleasure surge through him whenever he brushes against his prostrate, and he tries to keep a straight face, he really tries, but John’s astonished expression tells him that he fails quite spectacularly at that.

John’s hands are on his thighs, splayed wide open, stroking up and down, soothing and protective, and they tense and grip him each time a tremor runs through his body and makes him jerk. He keeps himself still under Jedikiah, doesn’t move, doesn’t rut up and into him although he’s so hard he’s leaking pre-come all over the length of his shaft.

“Line yourself up for me, please,” Jedikiah asks him softly, voice strained and breathless, and John takes himself in hand immediately, bites his lip so hard it turns white. He holds himself steady, and Jedikiah moves carefully, shivers when the tip of John’s cock brushes against his hole. “I’m yours,” he tells John as he kneels unmoving over his lap. “You understand that, right?”

For a second or two John is too busy with staring at where his cock is about to disappear into Jedikiah, but then his head snaps up, and his eyes are so full of emotion it hurts Jedikiah a little.

“I’m yours,” he says again, and then he sinks down, smooth and slow, watches John’s face the entire time. The stretch is unfamiliar, too deep and too hot, and it feels better than anything he could ever compare it to.

John is shaking beneath him, face open and raw, and Jedikiah carefully leans forward, gently kisses him. “I love you, and I’m yours,” he whispers. “Go ahead and take me.”

It’s quite possibly the best sex they’ve ever had.

 

It’s still raining the next morning when Jedikiah wakes up. The light filtering in through the blinds is grey and muted, and Jedikiah feels strange – halfway between bone deep exhaustion and a satisfied energy that threatens to vibrate him out of the sheets.

John is already awake, is looking at him with sleepy, adoring eyes, and Jedikiah’s throat closes up, can’t handle so much love so early in the morning. “Hey,” he croaks out, and John’s mouth twists into a lopsided smile, fond and happy.

“Hey.” The smile crinkles his eyes, the dim light in the room turns them into a dark, liquid blue, and for a moment Jedikiah is breathless with how much he loves this young man, feels utterly helpless and doesn’t care.

“Last night was … really good,” John murmurs, burrows closer to him, his sleep-warm skin soft and inviting. “I had no idea I would enjoy it as much as I did.”

Jedikiah’s response is a distracted hum while his hands roam the expanse of John’s back, carefully cataloguing every tiny scar.

“Thank you for letting me have that,” John whispers, lets his lips drag down across Jedikiah’s neck and kisses the hollow of his throat.

“You can have me as often as you wish,” Jedikiah tells him, closes his eyes and bares his throat to him, trusting and completely relaxed. “I enjoyed it just as much as you did.” He hesitates for a few seconds, then opens his eyes to stare at the shadowed ceiling. “I’d like to invite Morgan over sometime this week – for dinner maybe. Would you be alright with that?”

John lifts his head to look at him, and Jedikiah interrupts his study of the ceiling to return his gaze. He sees John swallow and tilt his head, sees the brief flicker of discontent glide over his face. “Yes,” John finally says. “That would be fine. I can –“

“You’re going to stay for that dinner,” Jedikiah tells him, a pleading warmth to his voice. “She knows about us, John. There’s no reason for you to flee. I want her to … to get to know us as we are now – and Charlotte as well. If you don’t want her to be a part of our family that’s fine – completely understandable – but she’s not a threat.”

John keeps looking at him, studies his face with curious intent, and licks his lips. “You’re sure you wouldn’t rather be alone with her?”

“Why would I? I don’t plan on conspiring with her.” Jedikiah stretches out on the mattress, spreads his legs and pulls John between them. “I don’t think I have any secrets left anyway.”

John smiles, softer and quieter than before, but just as genuine. “That must be weird for you.”

Jedikiah returns his smile. “Freeing, actually.” He sighs and closes his eyes. Being close to John is always the best way for him to relax – it grounds him just as much as it makes him happy, and he’s never more sure about who he is or what he wants from life when he’s alone or with anyone else. He stretches, very pleased with himself and his company. “How late is it – do we have to get up yet?”

“Nah, we have about an hour,” John informs him, and then he’s kissing him again, lips soft against Jedikiah’s pulse point. “You want to go back to sleep?”

Jedikiah makes a content sound at the back of his throat and lifts his hand to drag his fingers through John’s hair. “What I really want to do is make the most of the fact that we’re currently alone in the house.”

John’s amused huff feels warm against his naked skin, and Jedikiah takes a peek at him. “Not interested?”

John leans into his touch, returns his gaze from under his lashes. “Is that a trick-question?”

Jedikiah chuckles and pets his hair. “Yeah, right, that’s exactly what that was.”

John bites his lip, blood rising to his cheeks, and his pupils dilate. “How do you want it?”

“I’m still loose from yesterday,” Jedikiah whispers, and John’s breath hitches over a little moan. “All you’d have to do is slick me up a little.”

“I can do that.” John’s voice is breathy, but he sounds more than just pleased, and Jedikiah favours him with a satisfied grin.

“Then let’s get started.”

 

Morgan is scheduled to visit them on the following Wednesday. Jedikiah is not quite sure what’s going on when he comes home from work that day and the whole house smells … _Italian_.

“Are we expecting vampires for dinner?” he asks entering the kitchen. “Or what’s with the garlic?”

John glances up from where he’s pulling freshly baked bread out of the oven, looking harassed. “Too much?”

“Oh my God, Jed, don’t get him started again,” Charlotte breaks in, sounding just as harassed, but maybe for a slightly different reason. She’s standing in front of the kitchen isle, freeing muffins from their baking tray. “The food is _fine_ , John. It’ll taste great – it always does. Will you please just relax? Morgan is a nice lady, I don’t know what you’re being so nervous about!”

Jedikiah grins and steps over to her, greets her with a one-armed hug that doesn’t interfere with her work. “Has he been very annoying?”

She huffs. “You wouldn’t believe it!”

John utters a wounded sound and snakes his arms around Jedikiah’s hips from behind, rests his chin on Jedikiah’s shoulder. “You two are being mean again.”

Charlotte makes an impatient noise and frees the last muffin. “There. All ready. Can I go to my room until Morgan arrives?”

“Sure you can, sweetheart,” Jedikiah allows graciously. “I’ll try to get John to relax.”

She looks up and winks at him, cheeky grin firmly in place. “But not in the kitchen, please.”

“Oh my God,” John whispers, horrified, while Jedikiah’s delighted laughter vibrates through both their bodies. Charlotte winks again and dances out of the kitchen, and Jedikiah turns around in John’s arms, pulls him closer.

“She’s turning out great,” he proclaims, still chuckling, while John buries his face in his chest. “I can’t wait to see what kind of friends she’s going to bring home once we send her to school.”

“Shut up,” John demands, voice muffled against Jedikiah’s chest, and affectionately slaps his hip. “This is all your fault!”

“Hardly,” Jedikiah says, and kisses the top of John’s head. “There’s far too much of you in her.”

John makes a pleased little sound and lifts his head to kiss him properly on the mouth. It’s a warm kiss, unhurried and completely innocent, and Jedikiah could die happy right then and there. The moment lasts until the oven timer beeps, and John practically _pushes_ him away in his haste to get to the fridge.

“I see what Charlotte was on about,” Jedikiah comments, dry as dust. “Clearly, you need professional help.” He watches John take out a glass bowl and lifts his eyebrow. “Is that tiramisu? Then why the muffins?”

“There’s alcohol in here,” John says, sounding scandalized, and puts the bowl down, “and raw egg! Morgan can’t have more than just a little bit!”

“Then why did you make it?” Jedikiah asks and looks around, feeling lost in a sea of food. “John, what _is_ all this stuff?”

John’s shoulders droop until he looks more like a lost little puppy than the adorable man-child he is, and Jedikiah walks over to him to gather him in his arms and _squeeze_. “You don’t have to prove anything, kiddo. Your position in this household is secure. And Morgan can’t cook anyway. You could dish out instant-noodles and she’d be impressed.”

John gasps a little at the tightness of the embrace, but he doesn’t complain. Instead, he puts his own arms around Jedikiah and squeezes right back. “Yeah. Well. You just have to let me do this, okay?”

“I am entirely happy with leaving the proceedings in your very capable hands,” Jedikiah clarifies, “but if you’re planning on cooking more, I’d really have to stop you.”

“No, no, I’m quite finished,” John soothes him, amusement coating his words. “Charlotte would kill me.”

“And we can’t have that,” Jedikiah states, voice dry. “For so many reasons.” He strokes John’s back, tries to get their breathing to match. “You want a glass of wine before Morgan gets here?”

“Wine always makes me sleepy,” John says. “You know that.”

“Exactly my point,” Jedikiah smirks. “As hyper as you are, it’d only do you good.”

“Nah,” John sighs and cuddles up closer to him. “I’m already feeling better.”

Jedikiah kisses him again. This time he manages to pursue that pleasant occupation until the doorbell rings.

 

Morgan’s arrival causes John to tense-up instantly. He goes rigid in Jedikiah’s arms, and Jedikiah very carefully lets go of him, looks him in the eyes. “I love you, kiddo. Don’t you forget that.”

They go to the door together, not hand in hand, but close enough that one is never without the other’s warmth. Jedikiah shoots John a look before he opens the door, only turns the knob when John nods at him, a little pale, visibly nervous. Jedikiah winks at him, and then there’s Morgan. And flowers.

“Something smells _great_ ,” she says and more or less thrusts the flowers at Jedikiah. “Thank you for inviting me.”

She steps forward and opens her arms to give John a gentle but uncompromising hug, and then affectionately strokes her hand over Jedikiah’s arm. She doesn’t move to hug him, merely smiles at Jedikiah, and he quietly smiles back, pulls her into the house and leads her into the kitchen. “John cooked. I hope your appetite is up to the task.”

“My appetite is up to pretty much anything these days,” she sighs and immediately sinks down onto the chair John pulls out for her. “So far I could avoid pickles and whipped cream, but it was a close call.”

Jedikiah puts the flowers in a vase, while John gets her a glass of water. He’s radiating discomfort, shoulders tense and mouth pulled into a frown, and as aware as Jedikiah is of John’s feelings, he’s rather sure that Morgan can’t have missed them either. She’s always been too observant and far too sensitive to be so blind now.

As expected her eyes flick first over to John and then to Jedikiah, eyebrows lifted, and he performs a helpless shrug. She bites her lip, looks down at her belly, hesitant, but not for long. “John, excuse me if I’m being blunt, but I’d hate to be the elephant in the room all evening – especially given my fragile state of mind with all those hormones running rampant – so: Do you want me to leave?”

John blinks at her, blue eyes full of astonishment, and Jedikiah sighs. “Morgan …”

She bites her lip again. “That really was too blunt, wasn’t it?”

“No,” John cuts in, and when she questioningly tilts her head at him, he manages a shaky smile. “You weren’t too blunt, and I don’t want you to leave; it’s just –“

“Rather awkward,” she nods. “I blame Jed.”

“People usually do,” he murmurs and puts John’s self-made bread and a keg of sour cream on the table.

She ignores him in favour of the food, and dips little chunks of bread into the sour cream while she continues talking. “But the thing is – I really don’t want him back. Too high maintenance, you know. And even if I _did_ want him back – which I don’t – I might as well try to make a pass at the Pope. Not that Jed is even the littlest bit holy – rather the opposite. Holy water would start to boil if we tried to baptize him.”

Jedikiah very wisely refrains from commenting on this fascinating monologue, and busies himself with getting the main course ready. John is standing right next to him, his back to the stove, and Jedikiah lets their elbows bump now and again. It grounds him just as much as it hopefully grounds John.

John clears his throat. “Yes. Ehm. Jed already told me more or less the same thing.”

“And you don’t believe us, is that it?” Morgan sounds more amused than anything else. “Do you know how it feels, entering this house? Do you know how sickeningly, choke-full of love the air in here is? Let me tell you: it’s disgusting. And I want that love for my child, _yes_ , but certainly not half of it, because _half of it_ doesn’t exist. That feeling is you and Jed _together_ , and tearing that apart is the last thing I have in mind.”

“Jesus,” Jedikiah says very, very softly, and turns his head to the side to gauge John’s reaction.

He’s smiling now, corners of his mouth just the littlest bit pulled up, but his eyes are shining and suspiciously wet. Jedikiah clears his throat and moves to set the table for four. “You’re good,” he murmurs into Morgan’s ear as he’s standing directly next to her, and she winks at him.

“I know. Now get Charlotte down here while the mood is up.”

He throws her a salute and marches out of the room. When he returns, Charlotte in tow, John has sat down at the table opposite of Morgan and is in the process of shovelling food onto her plate.

Charlotte greets Morgan like the perfect little lady she is and moves to sit down next to her, eyes intent on her belly. “How far along are you?”

“Almost seven months now,” Morgan says while Jedikiah takes the chair next to John. “He’s getting _heavy_.”

Charlotte hums thoughtfully and spears pasta onto her fork. “Do you have decided on a name yet?”

“Given that he makes me feel like a whale most of the time, I’m rather set on Jonah,” Morgan discloses and drinks a sip of water.

“That’s nice,” Charlotte says. “It sounds like Jedikiah and John mixed together.”

The silence that follows is rather telling. It tells Jedikiah that Morgan never was very good at sounding out names in her head. “I … didn’t think of that,” she says slowly. “But now that you mention it, I like the name even more. That’s settled then. Brilliant. Thank you, Charlotte.”

Charlotte beams at her, and Jedikiah turns his head to look at John. The expression on his face is confusing, as if the muscles don’t know what to do with themselves, and Jedikiah puts his hand on John’s knee and squeezes gently. John immediately looks back at him, eyes wide and uncomprehending, and Jedikiah affectionately calls him a little doofus. “Told you, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, yeah,” John whispers, doing his best to sound unaffected. “You’re very wise, aren’t you?”

“Mostly, I’m just old,” Jedikiah whispers back. “But if you want to call me wise, I won’t stop you.”

“They’re always like that,” Charlotte informs Morgan on the other side of the table. “Astrid thinks it’s cute.” Her tone suggests that she chooses to think otherwise.

Morgan giggle-snorts into her water glass, and John takes Jedikiah’s hand under the table. It doesn’t make eating any easier, but they don’t let that stop them.

 

Wednesday dinners become a routine, after that. Following the third dinner John and Charlotte start to accompany Morgan to her doctor’s appointments. Once _that’s_ happening she’s pretty much always over, helps John with tutoring Charlotte, becomes friends with Melinda, Roger and Marla. Since she already knows Cara and Russell she doesn’t hesitate to include them in any and all activities they are careless enough to let themselves be drawn into, Stephen brings Astrid into the mix and suddenly there’s a whole plethora of people constantly falling in and out of the house, eating all their food – including the overabundance of cookies Melinda still insists on baking.

Fortunately, Jedikiah doesn’t mind his house turning into the Grand Central Station of Social Gatherings. All he does is set up a study only John is allowed to enter and bother him on pain of pain.

“You know,” Morgan tells Jedikiah lazily one Friday evening while they’re lounging on the couch together, “I really don’t think we deserve all this.” She promptly proceeds to plop her feet into his lap, and he wheezes and grabs her ankles to move her feet so she doesn’t cause him more pain than necessary.

‘All this’ is Charlotte and John on the carpet in front of them, playing board games with Stephen and Luca while the dog dozes in Charlotte’s lap – Luca and Charlotte almost literally wiping the floor with the other two. They have bonded over the last few weeks, much to the affectionate amusement of everyone else. (Astrid thinks they’re cute. Jedikiah’s beginning to suspect that Astrid’s definition of cute is rather loose.)

“I’m pretty sure I don’t deserve it,” he says and starts to absent-mindedly rub her feet. “But it beats me why you shouldn’t.”

“No one deserves this much happiness,” she tells him, matter-of-fact. “It’s creepy.”

“Stop listening to Russell and just be glad,” he advises her. “And get more grown-up friends.”

“I can’t,” she says. “He’s going to teach our baby how to play the piano.”

Jedikiah lets his head drop to the back of the couch. “Oh God.”

“Astrid’s going to teach him singing,” Morgan goes on, and he can hear the teasing grin in her voice. “Just so you know.”

“I give up!” John declares dramatically from his place on the carpet before Jedikiah gets the chance to voice his opinion. “You have to go on without me.” He stands up and walks over to the sofa, and Morgan lifts her legs long enough so he can sit down between her and Jedikiah before she plops them down again with a sigh. “What are you talking about?”

“Our kid’s future as a pop-star,” Jedikiah says. “Morgan has _plans_.”

John’s mouth twists into a cheerful smile. “Did you tell him about the dancing lessons?”

Jedikiah groans, and Morgan laughs. “No. No, I didn’t.”

John chuckles, and Jedikiah lifts his arm so he can burrow closer to him. “What did Marla say when she and Rodger are coming over with the food?”

“In ten minutes,” John answers after a glance at the living room clock.

“Oh good,” Morgan sighs. “I’m starving.”

Neither John nor Jedikiah say anything.

“You two are jerks,” Morgan tells them.

Jedikiah soothingly rubs her feet while John chuckles into the crook of his neck. “We know.”

“Is it the hormones again?” Stephen asks from his place on the carpet, a look of mock-horror on his face. “Should we build a barricade?”

“One of these days you’re going to get slapped,” Jedikiah tells him. “And I’m not going to do a thing about it.”

“Sure you would,” Stephen grins. “I’m your favourite nephew.”

Luca rolls his eyes at him. “You wish.”

Stephen, ever the mature one, sticks his tongue out at him.

“Boys,” Jedikiah says, because by now he knows better than to use the word ‘children’ and include the saintly Charlotte in his educational measures, “ _behave_.” He then promptly ignores the following tussle on the carpet, because he can trust that both Luca and Stephen would never involve Charlotte in anything even resembling physical violence. Not after Stephen’s bloody nose.

“See, and this is why you’ll make a _great_ father,” Morgan comments. “You’re so strict and demanding.” She stretches, both hands on her belly, and heaves a heavy sigh. “God, I can’t wait for him to be born. I feel like I’m carrying around twins.”

“I could point out the obvious and say that you have no idea how that feels, but I’m smarter than that, and I won’t,” Jedikiah says.

“Sometimes I am so very glad that you’re not a lawyer,” John murmurs against his neck.

“God, why would you say that – he’d be horrible,” Morgan groans.

Jedikiah can feel John grinning against his skin, and he brushes a kiss against his temple, ignores Stephen’s fake-retching noises, and smirks when Charlotte stops that behaviour with a gentle but pointed slap. “Don’t do that. It’s rude.”

Stephen actually apologizes.

The doorbell rings, proclaiming Roger and Marla’s arrival, and Morgan instantly moves her feet out of Jedikiah’s lap and flops around on the sofa. “Stephen, Luca, help me get up!”

They do and escort her to the front door, followed by Charlotte and the dog. Jedikiah embraces the opportunity and moves to the side so he can take John properly into his arms.

“We have visitors,” John points out but doesn’t try to free himself. Instead he lifts his face and smiles, crinkling eyes full of mischief.

Jedikiah kisses him. “We always have visitors. They can wait.”

John hums and returns the kiss, moves so Jedikiah can hold him tighter. “It still feels weird, sometimes – unreal.”

They talk about it, now and again. About the Founder and what he did to John – about John’s fears and about Jedikiah’s too. They’ll probably never go away, will always be a part of their life, just like their nightmares. But just like their nightmares, they’ve become less frequent and weaker, less and less powerful.

“I know,” Jedikiah says, because he does, and kisses John again – doesn’t stop, even when he feels Roger’s eyes on them.

“My sons tell me I deserve this visual for leaving them alone in this house,” Roger says, after half a minute of watching them kiss. The fond grin is very audible in his voice. “Obviously, they’re immensely grateful for the experience.”

John starts laughing into the kiss and so does Jedikiah. When they separate to look at him, Roger is smiling, pointing with his right thumb over his shoulder and towards the kitchen. “Come on, dinner is ready.”

“We’re aware,” Jedikiah drawls. “Why don’t you go away and tell the others to start without us? And close the door behind you.”

Roger smirks and favours them with a twinkling wink before he turns and leaves. “As you wish.”

John is still grinning, and Jedikiah doesn’t fight him when he pushes him on his back and crawls on top of him. “I really have only you to blame for everything that’s happened, you know?”

He sounds grateful and amazed, and Jedikiah lifts his hand to stroke his fingers through his hair, gently gets it out of his eyes. “Oh yeah?”

“Yes,” John says, utterly certain. Now he’s no longer grinning but smiling instead, soft and strangely hopeful. “It always comes back to you. Everything that’s ever happened in my life – you were always a part of it, somehow.” He looks at Jedikiah, eyes wide and sincere. “I … I don’t think I know who I am without you anymore, Jed.”

The raw honesty in his voice almost makes Jedikiah shiver, and the expanding warmth in his chest would alarm him if he weren’t so certain of its cause. “Good”, he says, voice rough with affection. “Because I think I never knew who I was without you. That makes us even.”

“Even,” John echoes, looks at where he’s in the process of entwining their hands. Jedikiah’s watching his face, mesmerized that the open, vulnerable light in his eyes doesn’t seem to go away. “I can live with that.”

 

**_Bonus – One Year Later_ **

“I swear to God he’s giving me an aneurism – look, I mean, just – just _look_ at him!”

Somewhere to his left Morgan’s agitatedly waving her hand around, and Jedikiah shoots her a glance from out of the corner of his eye. Then he immediately turns his attention back towards the stove, reduces the heat. “I can’t. The milk is about to boil.”

“Forget your stupid milk and look at what your one true love is doing to my psyche! Surely my sensitive health is more important than hot chocolate!”

“Charlotte would beg to differ,” Jedikiah says, but obediently turns the stove off before he turns around to look at where John is sitting at the kitchen table, Jonah on his lap. The baby is asleep and drooling on John, who doesn’t seem to mind at all, staring down at Jonah with such a look of helpless adoration it kills Jedikiah a little. He clears his throat. “Nothing new to see here. I don’t know what you’re being so exited about.”

It really is nothing new. It’s been like this ever since John first held Jonah, but try as he might, Jedikiah can’t get used to it. Initially John was hesitant, almost afraid to hold such a fragile living thing, but once Jonah was in his arms, staring with blue-eyed fascination and trying to reach up to him, John was lost, and Jedikiah with him.

Nine months old, Jonah no longer has his baby-blue eyes. Instead they’re a warm chocolate brown, a little lighter than Morgan’s, and the fine dusting of hair on his head is Jedikiah’s red-blond. He’s an active child, always exploring, and Jedikiah can’t wait for him to grow older and at the same time wants him to stay as he is forever.

“Jesus,” Morgan murmurs next to him. “I should have kept my mouth shut and let you make your damn hot chocolate in peace. You know he looks at you just the way you’re looking at him now, whenever you’re with Charlotte? You two are unbelievable.”

“Astrid thinks it’s cute,” Jedikiah tells her absentmindedly.

“Astrid also likes your collection of hipster plaid-shirts and thus isn’t allowed to make any decisions of importance. Concerning John: I feel bad every time I have to go home and take my baby away from him,” Morgan complains. “That’s not cute: that’s emotional terrorism!”

Jedikiah smiles at her. “You could just move in, you know.”

She grimaces. “John wouldn’t want that.”

“Are you kidding? He’d be ecstatic!” Jedikiah sighs and turns back to the stove, resumes his task with somewhat rattled concentration. “You do remember that he suggested to sleep over at yours to help with the early morning feeding after Jonah was just born?”

“Yeah,” Morgan says, sounding fond. “I remember. He was a great help. You both were – still are. But that doesn’t mean I can just barge into your life –“

“You’re being ridiculous,” John says from his place at the table. He speaks softly, tries not to wake the baby and gently starts to rock it when it makes a tiny sound of discontent. “Just say it if you’d rather keep your own place.”

She blinks at him, and he looks up. “I’m not deaf, you know? I heard everything you said.” Two seconds later Jedikiah can feel his stare at the back of his head. “And I agree with her about the plaid. It has to stop, Jed – it’s driving me bonkers.”

“Don’t be silly, you love the plaid.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Yes, you do.”

Morgan jams her elbow into Jedikiah’s side. “Mind your milk!”

He does, and it’s silent for a moment, and then she sighs. “Okay, okay. I’m moving in – if only to stop Russell from trying to teach my son ridiculous first words. We have to form a united front against him.”

“Johndekiah is a marvellous first word, I have to agree with Russell for once,” Jedikiah pipes up again, adding chocolate and cinnamon to his milk.

Morgan snorts. “Fatherhood is making you soft in the head, dear. Go and snuggle your son and let me take over here.”

Jedikiah immediately surrenders his task to her and walks over to John who hands him the baby with eager readiness. Because if there’s one thing John enjoys more than holding Jonah himself it’s watching Jedikiah do the same.

For a moment they’re standing directly in front of each other, Jonah between them, half in John’s arms and half in Jedikiah’s, and once Jedikiah is cradling his son against his chest, he reaches out with his free hand and pulls John into a soft kiss.

“You two are disgusting,” Morgan tells them with her back to the room, and adds a sprinkle of nutmeg to the hot chocolate.

“I’m beginning to take that as a compliment,” Jedikiah murmurs against John’s smiling mouth. John hums and kisses him back. Between them, Jonah makes a gurgling sound and wakes up, distinctly displeased with the overall situation. He wails and kicks out against Jedikiah’s chest, and John immediately straightens to give him some space.

Once returned to the light, Jonah immediately calms down, delighted at seeing both his Daddies at once, but that doesn’t stop Jedikiah from making faces at him until he laughs and John is giggling, eyes shining with amusement.

“I only hope the walls in this house are thick,” Morgan muses from her spot by the stove. “Very thick.”

“They are,” Jedikiah says and pulls his mouth into a kissy-face Jonah immediately lifts his hands to touch. “This is a proper house – I looked it up before I bought it. German architect. Built to last and all that.”

“Yeah, I guess Charlotte would have complained by now if it wasn’t,” Morgan grins and turns off the stove. “What colour should we paint the nursery?”

“Oh, we have to repaint it, now that you’re moving in?” Jedikiah asks, and lowers his face so Jonah can grab it.

“He does like yellow,” Morgan says instead of an answer. She’s probably right. The current plain white is a little too cold for a proper nursery, even if it suffices for occasional baby-sitting.

John nods. “Yellow base colour and a rainbow where the crib is standing? We could get Charlotte to paint him some flowers on the walls? She’s really good at those – especially sun-flowers.”

“That’s a great idea.” Morgan distributes the hot chocolate into four mugs and brings one of them over into the living room where Charlotte’s busy doing her homework. When she returns, John and Jedikiah are both sitting at the table, Jedikiah still holding a cheerfully babbling Jonah. John is cradling his own mug of hot chocolate in his hands, watches them intently.

“Blargh,” says Morgan.

“You know,” Jedikiah says conversationally. “Charlotte has started hitting Stephen whenever he makes those kind of noises. I am rather confident she’s going to try that tested method on you as well.”

“And she should, because I’m just jealous.” Morgan shrugs her shoulders and sits down. “You were right when you told me to get grown-up friends. Now the only men in my life are either married like you and Roger, part of Melinda’s Golden Oldies group … or Russell.”

“Don’t you dare,” John says, a little blush on his cheeks at being classified as a married man. “He’s no match for you.”

Visibly bored by their conversation, Jonah tries to eat his own foot.

“I can’t help you either,” Jedikiah says and strokes his thumb over the sole of Jonah’s foot. “I’m surrounded by students all day.”

“But there must be other professors?” Morgan says. “Be good and get me a date, Jed. I allow you to lie about my qualities.”

Jedikiah shrugs and pulls his face into an expression of agreeable consideration. “Sure. I can do that. Gives me the opportunity to screen them first.”

“I can do the screening myself, thank you very much. Just make sure they’re not married, and I’ll do the crazy serial killer check-up.” Morgan takes a sip of her own hot chocolate and sighs. “I really need to get la–“

“Lalala,” Jedikiah interrupts her, very emphatically, and while John bursts out laughing, Morgan looks as unimpressed as she possibly can.

“Really?” she says. “ _Really?_ Because let me tell you, my dear Jed, you and John are not subtle. You are not subtle at all. Pretty much everyone around you suffers from how very much not subtle you two are. And now you want to censor me? I don’t think so.”

“I was merely trying to stop you from teaching our son a word he really should not be aware of a his tender age,” Jedikiah explains while John tries to hide his laughter in his shoulder. “That’s all.”

“Uh-huh,” Morgan says, visibly unconvinced. “Sure you did. I’m going to … go and help Charlotte with her homework – tell her I’m moving in. You two try not to get fairy-dust all over the kitchen while I’m gone, yeah?”

“I promise nothing,” Jedikiah informs her retreating form, “so _you_ better try not to get your mojo up and listen in on us.”

She throws up her hands, and stalks out of the room. John resurfaces from Jedikiah’s shoulder, cheeks pink and breathless with laughter. “You’re impossible!”

“Obviously not,” Jedikiah drawls and starts to drink his chocolate before it gets cold. “Or else I wouldn’t be here.”

“… I don’t know,” John muses and rests his head on his palm, leans his temple against Jedikiah’s shoulder. “The last year was pretty much impossible … as was almost every moment since the first time I kissed you.”

Jonah gurgles his assent, and both of them look down at him, each taking one of his hands when he reaches up to them.

“Oh my God!” Morgan yells from the living room. “Stop it!”

“Never!” they yell back in perfect synchrony.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm available on [tumblr](http://uenaina.tumblr.com/) if you need me.


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